


Oh, God, Where Are You Now?

by spencersmith



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Pining, Religious Guilt, Rugby, Sexuality Crisis, it's all good though, lil bit of religious guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4905241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spencersmith/pseuds/spencersmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is the most popular guy at school. Everything's going great - his best friend Courfeyrac is a cheerleader, he's getting into college on a rugby scholarship, and the whole school worships him. It's all perfect. Until a dumb, ridiculously stubborn blond asshole is thrown into the mix. But whatever. Grantaire is straight. Right?<br/>(This is somehow turning into a big courferre fic as well)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note for the uninitiated: in rugby, two teams of 15 play against each other. Half of the team play at the front, half at the back. The flyhalf is the link between these two halves. The aim is to score tries (essentially a touchdown). After a try, the flyhalf has to convert the try by kicking the ball between two posts. If he succeeds, they gain an extra two points.
> 
>  
> 
> _This fic was inspired by sunsetmog!_

“Grantaire, holy shit!”

 

Grantaire slams the shot glass back down on the table with a grin on his face. Everyone cheers. He’s not entirely sure who most of these people are, but he knows that they all love him. He also knows that he’s really fucking drunk.

 

He lifts his hands up and everyone cheers again, which makes Grantaire start giggling. Someone hands him another shot, which he downs in a second. They’ve been handing him shots since the start of the party, and that one was probably his 15th. Or 20th. He lost count.

 

The last one makes him feel woozy, and he rests his head on the table for a second. Some guy he knows from practice appears next to him, patting him on the shoulder.

 

“You okay, buddy?” he asks with a smirk. Grantaire doesn’t like the way his voice sounds, so he just bats him away clumsily. He needs to find Courfeyrac.

 

“I need to find Courfeyrac,” he slurs, his voice muffled by the music. The guy from practice scans the room. “Hey Courf! I think R is looking for you.”

 

“Oh my God, what have you guys done to him?!” Grantaire hears Courf groan from the other side of the room. He lifts his head to grin at Courfeyrac but the movement makes him feel woozy again.

 

“Come on R, let’s get you home.” Courfeyrac sighs, lifting Grantaire by the armpits. Grantaire wraps his arms around Courfeyrac’s neck, squeezing him tight.

 

“You’re such a great person, Courf,” he smiles against Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “So small.”

 

Courfeyrac pats the back of his head, trying to keep them both upright. “You’re drunk, Grantaire.”

 

That makes Grantaire laugh. “Yeah.”

 

“No offence, but if you puke on my uniform I’m never going to forgive you.”

 

Grantaire tries to move back to glare at Courfeyrac for even _implying_ that Grantaire can’t hold his liquor, but nearly topples over in the process, which makes him start laughing again. He reaches a hand up to ruffle Courfeyrac’s hair. Courfeyrac looks really cute when he’s in his cheerleading outfit. People used to give him shit about wearing the skirt, but damn, he pulls it off. He’s got really nice...thighs. Fuck. Not that Grantaire would ever notice that about another dude, because that’s gay as hell.

 

“I’m not gay.” Grantaire mutters to himself absently. He can see Courfeyrac grinning.

 

“I know you’re not, baby. Now come on. I’ve had enough of this shitty quarterback party.”

 

“I’m not a quarterback, I’m a flyhalf.” Grantaire frowns, but he lets Courfeyrac lead him out of the party.

 

Courfeyrac has this old battered up car that his parents passed on to him after they got a new one, and Grantaire lets Courfeyrac strap him into the passenger seat. He presses a kiss to Grantaire’s cheek to annoy him, and Grantaire wipes at his face. “Gross.”

 

Courfeyrac just laughs and skips around the car to slide into the driver’s seat. His socks are really white. That’s what Grantaire notices.

 

Grantaire presses his face against the cool glass of the window while they drive - mostly in silence, just the sound of Courfeyrac singing under his breath.

 

“Do you think your Dad’s gonna freak?” Courfeyrac asks after a second.

 

Grantaire groans. “He’s not my Dad.” He says against the glass.

 

“Well whatever he is, he’s fine as hell.” Courfeyrac mutters to himself, earning a halfhearted punch in the arm from Grantaire.

 

Courfeyrac cuts out the engine a few houses down from Grantaire’s. “Give me your keys,” he instructs.

 

“You give me _your_ keys,” Grantaire snickers, his breath steaming up the window. Courfeyrac just rolls his eyes and digs around in Grantaire’s pockets until he finds them.

 

It takes a while, but he eventually manages to get Grantaire out of the car. They walk down the street with Grantaire draped around Courfeyrac, stumbling clumsily and laughing every time he trips. Courfeyrac holds his finger up to his lips while he opens Grantaire’s front door, and Grantaire mirrors him. _”Shhhh!!!”_. It comes out loud, and Courfeyrac is sure Javert is going to hear them.

 

He gets Grantaire up the stairs and into his bedroom without too much damage, and Grantaire immediately crashes down face-first on his bed. Courfeyrac pulls off his shoes and pulls a blanket over him, earning one last sleepy giggle from Grantaire.

 

The clock on his nightstand says that it’s 3:34am, and Courfeyrac is way too tired to drive home. He nudges Grantaire over and curls up next to him, under the blanket. Grantaire wraps an arm around Courfeyrac’s waist. Courfeyrac isn’t going to mention that in the morning, and Grantaire probably won’t either. But it’s nice.

 

This is definitely going to crease Courfeyrac’s outfit.

  


*

 

When Courf wakes up on Sunday morning Grantaire is completely wrapped around him, and Courfeyrac is pretty sure he’s drooling on his uniform. Plus, Grantaire is a ridiculously hot sleeper, and his skin is sticky with sweat. Well, Courfeyrac hopes it’s just sweat.

 

He manages to peel him off just enough to slide out of the bed and onto the floor. He frowns down at his uniform. “I’m so sorry baby,” he whispers, running his hands over the creases in his skirt. “I’ll take care of you.”

 

Grantaire and Courfeyrac have known each other since preschool. They weren’t always friends, but since Courfeyrac became a cheerleader and Grantaire became flyhalf they sort of… fell into the same clique. So Courfeyrac knows Grantaire’s house pretty well. He also enjoys spending time there because honestly, Grantaire’s foster dad is pretty hot. He’s the chief of police in their town, and he’s always showing up in his uniform. Courfeyrac totally has a thing for uniforms.

 

Speaking of which, Courfeyrac needs to find a washing machine. He grabs a spare t-shirt from Grantaire’s wardrobe and pads downstairs, running a hand through his hair.

  


“Good morning, Courfeyrac.”

 

Javert is sitting at the kitchen table, coffee cup in hand, reading the newspaper. Sure enough, he’s wearing his uniform. It’s pristine. Courfeyrac is suddenly acutely aware of how rough he must look. “Good morning, chief.” He gives Javert a mock salute.

 

“You boys came in late last night.”

 

Courfeyrac bites his lip. “Yeah, sorry about that. You know how it is, it’s kinda hard to get people away from Grantaire sometimes.” He laughs sheepishly. “He’s pretty worn out from the match yesterday…”

 

Javert looks at Courfeyrac over the rim of his glasses. “Yes. I’m sure the match is what did it.”

 

Courfeyrac just chuckles, shifting awkwardly. Javert clearly isn’t going to ask him to sit down. Courfeyrac is pretty sure he has a problem with the whole cheerleader thing. Well, it’s probably the gay thing that really bothers him, but the cheerleading doesn’t help. As hot as Javert is in uniform, he’s a bit of a prick.

 

It’s not that Courfeyrac isn’t used to getting shit. He only managed to become a cheerleader because he threatened to sue the school for discrimination (which he admits, was a bit of a dick move). And the only reason he’s popular is because he’s on good terms with everyone. Even the assholes on the rugby team who still call him a ‘fag’ behind his back. But he’s cool with it. He’s happy.

 

“Could I maybe borrow your washing machine?” he asks Javert after a second. Javert just grunts and nods in the direction of the laundry room, so Courfeyrac takes that as a yes.

 

He strips off in front of the machine, throwing his uniform in and pulling Grantaire’s t-shirt over his head. It’s got some dumb rugby logo on the front of it, but it smells clean, so Courfeyrac is grateful. After some rummaging he finds the detergent, and throws in a colour catcher for good measure. “I’ll see you later,” he tells his uniform, blowing it a kiss before closing the lid of the machine.

 

What? It was hard enough to get the school to agree to let him wear a skirt. He’s very attached to his uniform.

 

He spends the rest of the morning sitting on Grantaire’s couch in his boxers waiting for his uniform to dry. Javert goes to work around 8:00am, which gives Courfeyrac plenty of time to steal food and watch shitty morning cartoons.

 

It’s almost noon by the time Grantaire finally stumbles down the stairs. He looks like shit. Courfeyrac bursts out laughing the second he sees him.

 

“You look like a zombie!” he snorts, waving his spoon in Grantaire’s direction.

 

“Is that my cereal?” Grantaire croaks, massaging his temples. “And my shirt?” Courfeyrac just nods, patting the couch beside him. Grantaire grabs a beer from the fridge before flopping down on the couch.

 

“Are you seriously drinking right now, dude?”

 

“Shut up, everyone knows that drinking is the best hangover cure.”

 

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. “Well, tomorrow’s Monday. So don’t get too drunk again. I’m not always gonna be here to mother you, dumbass.”

 

Grantaire just groans, sinking down into the couch. “Fucking Mondays, man.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras hates Mondays.

 

Every Monday he wakes up with a knot in his stomach. He doesn’t mind school. He enjoys spending time with his friends, and all the dumb clubs he’s a part of. But he hates the thought of leaving his mother alone.

 

He wakes up at 5.00am that Monday. He gets his Mom’s pills ready, eats some rice cakes, and reads news articles on his phone for about half an hour. He sends Combeferre his wakeup text around 6.00, which Combeferre always complains about, but Enjolras is pretty sure it saves his ass every morning. That boy could sleep through the apocalypse.

 

Before he leaves for school, he brings his Mom in breakfast. Her room is stale, and she looks so small in bed.

 

“Morning, ma.” he says softly, placing the tray down on her bedside table and kissing her on the cheek. “The nurse should be here at eight, okay? Don’t get out of bed before then.”

 

She doesn’t answer, just reaches her hand out. He takes it and squeezes it gently. She feels so fragile.

 

Enjolras leaves the room before he can talk himself into skipping class again.

  
  
  


He heads to Combeferre’s house before school. He only lives about two blocks away, and they’ve been walking to school together for as long as they can remember. Combeferre is sitting on the front step by the time Enjolras gets there. He’s wearing a beige plaid shirt and skinny jeans that make him look even lankier than normal. He looks exhausted.

 

“Jeez, ‘Ferre, you look like shit.” Enjolras grins through way of greeting. Combeferre just flips him off and gathers his stuff, starting down the path. Enjolras tries to keep up. Combeferre has ridiculously long legs. “Were you up late watching cheerleader porn again?”

 

“That was _one time_ , Enjolras.”

 

Enjolras just laughs. Combeferre’s got it bad. Ever since Courfeyrac became a cheerleader, he’s all Combeferre’s been able to think about. No matter how many times Enjolras reminds him that he is a living cliché - lame math geek pines over popular cheerleader who doesn’t know he exists. Enjolras reminds him of that now, poking Combeferre in the side.

 

“It’s not my fault, okay?” Combeferre groans. “He’s just so… sweet and cute and small and he’s got _really_ nice thighs and--”

 

“I get it, I get it, he’s perfect and you can’t live without him, etc.” Enjolras sighs. “Shit, why don’t you just ask him to prom? Before the flyhalf does.”

 

Combeferre looks bemused. “The flyhalf isn’t gay, Enj. Please don’t say that you’re freaking me out.”

 

“Please! He’s so gay.”

 

“He’s literally dating Eponine.”

 

Enjolras snorts. “She’s gay, too.”

 

“Oh my God, not everyone in the world is gay, Enjolras!”

 

“Well…” Enjolras starts, but Combeferre looks exasperated. “Okay look, all I’m saying is, you should ask Courfeyrac out before anyone else does.”

 

Combeferre groans and rubs his eyes. “You know I can’t do that.” he says softly.

 

Enjolras feels sorry for Combeferre. His parents are lovely, but they’re also devoutly religious.

“They don’t have to find out,” Enjolras tries, but he knows Combeferre wouldn’t lie to them. He links his arm through Combeferre’s.

 

“Are you coming to debate club later?”

 

Combeferre smiles. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

  
  


They get to school 40 minutes early, since Enjolras likes to hang out in the GSA room before class, planning things. He founded the GSA when he was a junior. He originally wanted it to be an LGBT group, but the principal insisted on the “S”. Either way, it’s a good platform to forward Enjolras’s political agenda. Combeferre likes to hang out so he can see the little gay freshmen and how terrified they are of Enjolras.

 

Unfortunately, Courfeyrac never shows up to any meetings. He’s supposedly the school’s Token Gay ™ but he never gets political about anything. He probably just wants to fit in. Enjolras resents him for that. Combeferre just wants him to be happy. Plus, he wouldn’t know what to do if Courfeyrac actually _did_ show up to a meeting. He’d probably forget how to breathe and then he’d die and it would all be very embarrassing. So it’s best that Courfeyrac doesn’t know who he is.

 

So far, the only real members of the GSA are Combeferre, Enjolras, a junior named Jehan, a super intimidating guy called Bossuet, and a bunch of freshmen whose names Combeferre never bothered to learn. Sometimes Bossuet’s boyfriend shows up, but most of the time he’s out sick. Combeferre is surprised that it’s even possible to be sick that many days of the year, but whatever. He’s sure Joly has a good reason.

 

 

“So they were actually under _orders_ to shoot civilians. Isn’t that disgusting?” Enjolras is saying, throwing his bag down on the table and pulling out a chair. The classroom is empty, since no one gets to school early enough to come to the morning meetings besides them.

 

Combeferre frowns, sitting down at his usual seat in the corner and pulling out his math book. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

 

“I was thinking we could do some sort of fundraiser, at least. Give some money to the PCRF,” Enjolras says pensively. “Get the school to boycott Israeli goods…”

 

“Let’s just stick to the fundraiser for now.” Combeferre says. He’s still exhausted after Enjolras’s last protest. He supports him, but God, it’s hard work keeping up with him. “I’ve got a calc test in two hours and if I don’t get 100% I’ll be grounded this weekend.”

 

“You’re such a dweeb.” Enjolras snorts, but he lets Combeferre study in peace.

 

By the time the bell goes, all Combeferre can think about is Indices and integration. He’d better not fuck up this test.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Courfeyrac was right, Grantaire does feel like shit on Monday. He Googled it, and apparently drinking more is not an instant hangover cure. He spends all of Monday morning with a pounding headache, and he’s pretty sure he failed his calculus test. Oh well. He’s practically already got a rugby scholarship.

 

By lunch time he starts to feel a little better. He sits outside on the grass with Courfeyrac and the rest of his friends, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his skin. There are probably about 30 people he hangs out with, most of them cheerleaders or part of the rugby team.

 

Yesterday, Courfeyrac had talked all afternoon. He stood in Grantaire’s living room in his boxers ironing for a good half hour. Right now though, he’s quiet. Too quiet. Grantaire nudges him with his foot.

 

“You okay, Courf?”

 

Courfeyrac frowns. He’s got this ridiculous mop of black curly hair and olive-coloured skin that looks amazing in the sunlight. Not that Grantaire would notice something like that, because that’s gay as hell.

 

“I’m failing calc.” Courfeyrac tells him, his voice cracking a little. “Ms. B pulled me aside after class and told me that if I don’t get my grades up, she won’t let me graduate.”

 

“Oh shit, dude,” Grantaire winces.

 

“What’s going on?” Cosette pipes up.

 

“Courf is failing calc.”

 

“Oh shit!”

 

“Shut up, shut up, I know,” Courfeyrac sighs, scrubbing his face with his hands.

 

“You know what you should do,” Cosette says, popping a strawberry into her mouth. “You should get one of those calc nerds to tutor you. They’d probably do it for free.”

 

“What?”

 

“God, y’know like that brown dude in our calculus class. What’s his name. He’s always getting As.” Cosette leans over Grantaire to shout “Hey, Eponine!”

 

Eponine looks up from her lunch, down the other end of the group. “What?”

 

“What’s the name of that brown dude in our calc class?”

 

“Uh, Combeferre?”

 

“Yeah! Combeferre.” Cosette says to Courfeyrac. “That guy is like, a fucking calculus wizard. You should get him to tutor you.”

 

“I don’t know,” Courfeyrac bites his lip. “I have to retake the test in two weeks. I probably won’t understand it anyway.”

 

“It’s worth a shot.” Grantaire says, trying to sound encouraging.

 

“Totally!” Cosette agrees. She always sounds so sweet and enthusiastic. Courfeyrac is glad she’s head cheerleader.

 

He leans back on his elbows and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, okay. What did you say his name was?”

 

“Combeferre,” Grantaire and Cosette say at the same time.

 

“Combeferre.” Courfeyrac repeats.


	4. Chapter 4

Grantaire gets through the rest of the day pretty much unscathed. He doesn’t get called on in English (which is a blessing) and spends most of his History class sleeping with his eyes open. 

 

After History though, everything goes downhill. Mr. Lamarque pulls him aside to ‘have a word’, which can never mean anything good.

 

“I think you know why I want to talk to you, Grantaire.” 

 

“Is it...because my grades are so amazing?...and you want to personally congratulate me?” Grantaire tries hesitantly.

 

Mr Lamarque sighs and sits on the edge of his desk, arms folded. “There’s no easy way to put this Grantaire.” He says. “I can’t give you a passing grade in this class.”

 

Grantaire feels like he’s going to throw up. “Why?” he asks, his voice coming out more hoarse than he expects. 

 

“Your work just isn’t good enough. Last week you handed me an essay that said that the French revolution was in 1923 and was led by Charlemagne.”

 

“So I’m guessing that’s…wrong?” 

 

Mr Lamarque gives Grantaire an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Grantaire. I know that your scholarship means a lot to you.” 

 

Grantaire suddenly feels like he’s going to cry. He can’t lose the scholarship. Not over something this stupid. He blinks a few times. “Surely there’s a way to, to fix this?”

 

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about that.” Mr Lamarque reaches behind him to flick through some papers. “You do have a few options. The most obvious one is Summer school…” 

 

Grantaire shakes his head. “I can’t do that, Sir. My Dad would kill me if he knew. He can’t find out that I’m failing. He can’t.” 

 

Mr Lamarque scans his notepad, scratching his stubble with one hand. “Well…the only other option I see would be for you to earn extra credit, but you’d have to do it my way.”

 

“Anything! Anything. What do I have to do?” Grantaire pleads, heart racing.

 

“Debate club.”

 

That makes Grantaire’s heart sink. “Debate club?”

 

“We’ve been short a member for a while now, and I think it would help with your essay-writing. It could boost you up to a passing grade.” Mr Lamarque explains, setting his notepad down and looking at Grantaire over the rim of his glasses. “Not a good grade, but a passing one.”

 

Grantaire takes a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth. “Yeah, okay. Okay.”

 

“Excellent!” Mr Lamarque beams. “Then I’ll expect to see you later, at 4.15.”

 

“4.15? But I have practice after school.” Grantaire argues helplessly. Mr Lamarque just shrugs, standing up to dismiss him.

 

“Sorry Grantaire. You’re going to have to make your own decision.”

 

Grantaire stands up angrily, leaving the room with a huff. Stupid school. Stupid grades. Stupid fucking Charlemagne.

 

“I hope you make the right one!” He hears Mr Lamarque call from behind him. Grantaire just slams his fist into a locker.

 

*

 

“I’m so psyched for debate today, I swear,”

 

Enjolras is hunched over his notebook, his mouth set in a straight line. He looks happy and determined, it makes Combeferre feel happy, too. They’re sitting in the cafeteria after school, since they have a half hour to kill before debate club, and most people have gone home. Enjolras is scribbling arguments down enthusiastically, while Combeferre absently finishes some past paper equations. 

 

“I mean, it’s not the most exciting topic -- capital punishment? Really? I feel like we’ve done this every year since we were freshmen. Like they’re too afraid to give us any current topics. But still! Whoever is in favour of capital punishment better buckle their seatbelts because I’m about to kick their ass. Asses. Whatever.”

 

Enjolras is talking fast, not once looking up from whatever he’s writing down. He’s buzzing with energy, like he normally is when he’s on a roll. Combeferre smiles at him. 

 

“You always kick ass, Enjolras.”

 

“Dude.” Enjolras looks up from his book and grins. “What’s another word for guilt?”

 

“Ehsaas-e-jurm.”

 

“In English, asshole.”

 

“Fault? Remorse? Culpability?”

 

“Remorse, I like that. Make ‘em feel a little compassion.”

 

“Hit them where it hurts,” Combeferre mutters, grinning. He knows Enjolras doesn’t really pay attention to his surroundings when he’s arguing, so there’s no sense in trying to make any more conversation.

 

He’s nearly finished his last equation when Enjolras slams his notebook shut and stands up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. 

 

“Come on, come on, we’d better go.” He says, closing Combeferre’s books for him even though he’s still writing. Combeferre makes a whiny complaining sound, but he shoves his books in his bag anyway and follows Enjolras up to Mr. Lamarque’s classroom. Combeferre has his own little place next to the radiator in the corner of the room, where Lamarque lets him sit and watch Enjolras and finish his homework. He slides in there now, pressing his back against the heater and fiddling with the tinsel hanging from the desk. Even though he doesn’t celebrate Christmas, the decorations around the school make him feel warm and happy. 

 

He watches Enjolras animatedly talking to Lamarque while the room starts to fill up (well, the four other people that bother to come to debate club arrive). For the past few months there have only been five people involved in debate club, including Enjolras, so they’ve had to split into a team of three and a team of two. Enjolras is always on the team of two. He’s a force unto himself.

 

Everyone’s in the room by 4.15, but Mr. Lamarque keeps glancing at his watch. It’s nearly 4.25 by the time they actually start, taking their positions at the front of the room. The pro-death penalty party start first, and Combeferre can see the cogs turning in Enjolras’s brain, can see him dismantling all their arguments. He feels a lot of love for Enjolras, just then. Pride. 

 

It’s almost 4.35 when the door swings open, startling everyone into silence. And on the other side of the door is...the flyhalf. He’s sweaty and breathless and wearing his rugby gear - which Combeferre can admit, is objectively hot - and he’s looking at Lamarque with a really sheepish expression on his face.

 

Lamarque is leaning against his desk with his arms crossed. He doesn’t look happy, but he motions for Grantaire to sit down at one of the front desks. He doesn’t offer any explanation to the rest of them, just tells Enjolras to go ahead with his argument.

 

Enjolras looks completely unphased. He’s still lost in thought, arranging his arguments his head, closing every loophole.

 

He wins the debate.

 

Obviously.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Grantaire hates this. He knows Lamarque is intentionally ignoring him; so he’s going to ignore back. He’s going to ignore this whole damn club. It’s freaking stupid anyway, it’s clear that everyone agrees with the blond kid. He doesn’t get the point of a club where people just argue the whole time. He gets enough of that at home.

 

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have shown up so late. But it’s not like he could just  _ completely  _ ditch rugby. Everyone would want to know where he is. He’s still the flyhalf. He’s cool and popular and important. Lamarque would never understand what that’s like. Neither would anyone in this club.

 

Grantaire suddenly realises that everyone is looking at him, bar blond dude, and he feels very self-conscious. 

 

“Uh. What?”

 

“Who are you siding with, Grantaire?” Lamarque repeats impatiently.

 

“Oh. Uh. Whatever side the blond kid is on, I guess.”

 

The blond guy’s head snaps up as he says that, his dark eyes looking right at Grantaire, his gaze piercing and steady. Grantaire feels kind of dizzy, kind of uncomfortable. At least, he thinks it’s discomfort. He feels  _ something _ , right in the pit of his stomach. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it.

 

“Are you serious?” blond guy is asking, his debate voice still on, his words sounding bitter and forceful. “We have three classes together, and you don’t know my freaking name?”

 

“Jeez, man. I can’t know everyone’s name. Give me a break.”

 

“We’ve been in class together since middle school.” He shakes his head incredulously. Grantaire has to drop his gaze. “Of course, you’re too busy being adored and wonderful, you don’t have time to remember my damn name.”

 

“Well...yeah.” Grantaire grins, which just makes the blond guy look even more annoyed.

 

“Enjolras,” Mr. Lamarque cuts in, “save it for debate.”

 

Enjolras just sighs, dismissing the conversation. Lamarque beckons him over to his desk to look at the notes he took.

 

Enjolras. 

 

Come to think of it, Grantaire is pretty sure he’s heard that name before. He vaguely remembers a presentation Enjolras gave about Leninism back in middle school, but back then he had braces and he was short and he didn’t make Grantaire’s stomach flutter when he looked at him. Well, not that he does now. Not in a gay way. Just like. He’s powerful and shit. Whatever.

 

Grantaire is about to zone out again when he hears a quiet chuckle from behind him. There’s a lanky-looking Asian dude sitting in the corner of the room, wrapped up a red scarf and warming his hands on the radiator. Which Grantaire finds kinda funny, since it’s like 45°F and Grantaire is overheating in his rugby gear. 

 

“Hey,” he whispers, trying to get the guy’s attention. It’s not working. He’s hunched over his math book, eyes scanning the pages. “Hey.” Grantaire says, louder this time. 

 

The dude looks up without saying anything.

 

“You’re Combeferre, right?” 

 

“Uh. Yeah.” He replies. He seems unimpressed.

 

“My friend - Courfeyrac? - he’s been looking for you. He wants to ask you something.”

 

Combeferre doesn’t answer, he just raises his eyebrows and...blushes. Grantaire didn’t think he’d be able to notice the blush, since Combeferre’s skin is so dark, but he’s definitely blushing.

 

“Dude,” he snorts, “are you blushing?” 

 

Combeferre immediately ducks his head again. “No.”

“That’s so gay, dude.” Grantaire laughs, turning back around.

 

The room is quiet for a second. “Do you ever shut the  _ fuck _ up?”

 

This time it’s Enjolras, looking directly at Grantaire again. 

 

Grantaire tries to roll his eyes for show, but he’s actually pretty fucking intimidated. “What did I do now?” 

 

“‘That’s so gay’, are you literally 12 years old? Why are you even  _ here _ ?” Enjolras looks so angry. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and Grantaire can see the muscles in his forearms flex as he clenches his fist around his pencil. Not in a gay way. He just notices it, that’s all. Enjolras turns to Lamarque. “Why is he here??”

 

Lamarque shoots Enjolras a look that seems to calm him down a little. They seem to understand each other. Lamarque clearly thinks that the Earth revolves around Enjolras.

 

“He wanted to join.” is all Lamarque says. Enjolras looks like he wants to say something else, but the bell rings to mark 5 o’clock.

 

“Let’s wrap up early today.” Lamarque says, turning to gather his notes and pens with a very deep sigh. “Next week we’ll talk about regionals and you can suggest topics. We’ll do a fast improv round. Be here on time.” He looks at Grantaire over the rim of his glasses. “All of you.”

 

Grantaire leaves the class first. He feels like a fucking idiot. He’s definitely going to fail History. There’s no way he can keep going to debate club if Enjolras is there, making him feel stupid and making his heart feel funny. He fucking hates Enjolras. That’s what it is. Hatred. 


	6. Chapter 6

“I fucking  _ hate _ the flyhalf.”

 

Enjolras is fuming, walking home at full speed with both hands clasped around the straps of his backpack. Combeferre is having a hard time keeping up, even with his long legs.

 

“‘The flyhalf’? You not gonna use his name anymore?” He snorts. He  _ would _ have stronger feelings about this, but he’s pretty distracted. All he can think about is Courfeyrac, and how Courfeyrac wants to talk to him, and  _ holy shit _ Combeferre is going to make such an idiot of himself. How’s he gonna keep it together?

 

“No. Ugh. It’s the 21st century, who uses ‘gay’ as an insult anymore? Only stupid, small-minded fucking jocks, that’s who.”

 

“Please town down the swearing, dude. You know my parents have supersonic hearing.”

 

Enjolras huffs, muttering something like “it’s true though” under his breath.

 

Combeferre really wants to talk about Courfeyrac, but he doesn’t want to be the one to broach the subject. He doesn’t want to make it seem like a big deal. It’s not a big deal, right? It’s just...Courfeyrac. The guy Combeferre has had a crush on since forever. Who wants to talk to him. 

 

“Okay, man.” Enjolras says, snapping Combeferre out of his daze. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, yeah? I have to get back to my mom.”

 

“Huh? I, uh. Yeah.” Combeferre realises that they’re standing in his driveway. He didn’t even get to mention anything to Enjolras. Forget it, forget it. “See you tomorrow, Enj.”

 

Enjolras is gone in a flash, leaving Combeferre alone, staring at his house like it’s going to swallow him whole. 

Combeferre hates going home in the evenings. Not that he doesn’t love his family, because he does, he really does...he just hates the way they make him feel, sometimes. He has to be a certain person in his parents’ eyes, and that isn’t who he really is anymore. His parents want a straight, straight A kid...all he can give them is the good grades. 

 

He trudges up the driveway, digging his key out of his pocket.  _ It’s stupid,  _ he thinks,  _ to feel nervous walking into your own home. You’re just stupid. _

 

He smells dinner cooking as soon as he opens the door. 

 

“Combeferre, is that you??” His mother shouts from the kitchen.

 

“Yes, ma, assalām ‘alaikum.” He sighs, taking off his shoes and hanging up his jacket. He dumps his bag at the bottom of the stairs.

 

“Did you take off your shoes??”

 

“Yes, I took of my shoes.”

 

“Come help me in the kitchen, Kia Aap Meri Madad Kar sakte hain.”

 

When he goes into the kitchen his mother is standing in front of the stove, stirring a large pot with one hand and holding a book with the other. The kitchen is immaculate, even though she’s clearly been doing a lot of cooking. Combeferre kisses her on the cheek.

 

“Could you rinse some rice please, piyaara?” She says, turning a page of her book.

 

Combeferre does as he’s told, hoping she doesn’t ask too many questions about school because he knows that if debate club is mentioned he’ll think of Courfeyrac and his mother will just  _ know _ something is up.

 

“How was salat al-zuhr?” She asks. She asks every day, just to make sure that he prays. And he always says the same thing.

 

“Good.”

 

“And Enjolras, is he well? How is his mother?”

 

“He’s good, ma. His mother is the same, I think.”

 

“You didn’t ask??”

 

“No,” Combeferre says, placing the rinsed rice in a pot. “No, I forgot.”

 

His mother shakes her head. “Mujhay samaj naheen aaee, why is that boy still friends with you when you have no manners?” She sighs. “Tomorrow you tell Enjolras to come in after school, I will give him food to take home. You understand?”

 

“Yes, ma.”

 

Combeferre hates it when Enjolras is in his house. His mother always wants to take care of him, to invite him over, but Combeferre knows that that could only end badly. His parents will ask him if he has a girlfriend, and Enjolras - stupid, political, unapologetic Enjolras - will tell them that he’s gay. “I will not stay in the closet for anyone”, that’s what he says. And then his parents will know that Combeferre is gay. Or at least, they’ll suspect. And he can’t have that. His parents can never know.

 

“It’s no wonder that boy is so skinny, no mother to care for him,” his mother continues, “No guidance. You tell him to come in, you understand?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Okay, well, go do your homework, son. I will call you when dinner is ready. I love you.”

 

“Love you too, mom.”

 

Once Combeferre is safe in his room, he makes the most of the alone time to flop down on his bed and scream very loudly into his pillow.

 

He loves his family, but he hates himself. He feels like he’s hiding something from them every time he talks to them. He wishes he could just be himself. That he were fucking straight. If he were straight, none of this would matter. He wouldn’t ever lose his family, he wouldn’t feel so estranged from his faith, he could just get a job and a wife and his own family and he wouldn’t have to go through any of this.  _ And _ he wouldn’t be so anxious that Courfeyrac wants to talk to him. Courfeyrac. 

 

He sits up and rubs his eyes, punching his pillow weakly for good measure. 

 

“You’re such a fag.” He mutters to himself.


	7. Chapter 7

Grantaire wakes up the next day with a headache. Again. He’s been thinking about debate club a lot, see, and he’s pretty sure it isn’t going to work out. He has a knot in his stomach at the thought of going back, and it is  _ certainly _ not because of stupid pretty Enjolras. Uh, stupid Enjolras. Not ‘pretty’. Where did that come from?

 

He rolls out of bed and stumbles to his feet, grabbing his phone from his bedside table and pulling on his jeans without finding clean boxers. He has (5) new messages from Courfeyrac, which he doesn’t open because he couldn’t be bothered to answer and he doesn’t want Courfeyrac to see the “read at” receipt. Courf hates that. So does Grantaire, really.

 

There’s a note on the table when he gets downstairs, some instructions from Javert about mowing the lawn and cleaning out the fridge before 5pm. Grantaire scrunches it up and throws it over the other side of the kitchen, where it lands in the sink. “Cunt.” he mutters.

 

Eventually he finds his hoodie on the couch and pulls on his shoes without untying the laces. He’s about 5 minutes late for school already, but he’s the flyhalf. He’s practically already got a scholarship. They’re lucky he goes to class at all.

  
  


He’s a full 20 minutes late for first period when he eventually gets to school. He walks straight to class, prepared to come up with some bullshit excuse if his teacher gives him any trouble. He opens the door without knocking, making the whole class fall silent, and he flashes Bahorel a grin. He’s about to say something stupid when he notices Enjolras, sitting in the back row, glaring at him from underneath a mop of messy blond hair. He has his arms folded across his chest and he’s wearing a red t-shirt that is  _ bound _ to be a few sizes too small for him, ‘cause it’s all tight around the chest and the arms and, fuck.

 

Grantaire never noticed him in his French class before, which is weird because he’s so...noticeable. He suddenly forgets what he had planned to say, his voice catching in his throat as he turns to face his teacher. She just looks tired.

 

“Uh, désolé.” he manages, heat rushing to his cheeks, and he takes his seat before he can do anything even more embarrassing. Fuck. This is so weird. No one has ever made him feel so weird inside, and he can’t figure out why. It’s fucking annoying.

  
  


“Hey,” he hears Éponine whisper from behind him. She touches his arm. “Are you okay, man?” 

 

Grantaire just nods, trying to smile at her when he leans down to take out his books. 

 

“Javert again?”

 

“Yeah.” he lies.

 

“I swear to God, R, one day I’m going to get you out of that house.”

Grantaire smiles again. Éponine is so sweet. He feels so much love for her just then. And...they’ve been fake dating for like 6 months, why don’t they just go for it? For real? She is a cheerleader, and she’s objectively hot. So. That’s how it works. Right?

 

“‘Ponine, can we talk later?”

 

Éponine looks concerned, but she nods, punching his arm for good measure. 

 

Grantaire successfully doesn’t look in Enjolras’s direction for the rest of the class. He gets through Algebra and English without much trouble (and without seeing Enjolras). And eventually he finds himself sitting cross-legged on the grass behind the chem labs with Éponine, and she’s got her hand on his thigh and it’s making him feel uncomfortable but he figures it’s probably because he likes it.

 

“Ép, I’ve been thinking, you like me, right?” he asks, tearing up a blade of grass next to him and rolling it between his fingers.

 

Éponine just laughs. “Of course I do, idiot, everyone in the fucking schoo--”   
  


“Will you go out with me, then? Like, for real?”

 

Éponine takes her hand off his thigh, her face falling. She doesn’t look shocked though, she looks more...angry.

 

“What the fuck, R? I thought we had an arrangement.” she scowls.

 

“C’mon ‘ponine, it makes sense, this is how it works,”

 

“I’m gay, dude! You know that! This is so disrespectful, Seriously. All men are the fucking same.” She shakes her head, running one hand through her hair. She has this short curly undercut and her hair is the colour of honey and it sort of makes Grantaire think about Enjolras but he pushes that thought away.

 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? I just thought you were, like, bisexual or something. That it could work.”

 

Éponine rolls her eyes. “Besides the fact that I am, again, a lesbian,  _ and _ hopelessly in love with the straightest woman on the planet - what fucking chemistry do you think we have? Do you really want to get all up in this?” she grins a little, gesturing to her crotch. 

 

Grantaire grimaces, which makes Éponine laugh. 

 

“It would be so easy, though, wouldn’t it?” R sighs, leaning back on the grass. He feels weepy for some reason. “If we were in love and shit. I could be all ‘I’m taking you out to dinner tonight, toots, you better wear this corsage’ and you’d be all, like…”

 

“I brought you some half time oranges, honey! Keep your strength for the big game!” she snorts, leaning down with him. She starts pulling up blades of grass and putting them on his chest.

 

“Yeah.”

 

A moment passes.

 

“It’d be gross, though.”

 

Grantaire laughs out loud. “Yeah. Yeah, it would.”

 

Éponine smiles at him, poking his cheek affectionately. “Let’s just keep being beards, all right? I like this arrangement. If the girls on the cheerleading time find out I’m gay they’ll pull all that ‘ummm don’t look at us in the changing rooms’ crap. They did that shit to Sophie last year. Like there’s anything to fucking see anyway.”

 

“You’re not a beard.”

“What?”

 

“You said ‘let’s just keep being beards’, but you’re not a beard ‘cause I’m not gay. So. I’m the beard.”

 

“Uh, yeah, okay. I guess. It doesn’t matter, dude.”

 

“I’m just saying. I’m not gay.”

 

Éponine rolls her eyes again, slapping him on the leg and clambering to her feet. “Let’s get up, man. The bell is gonna ring in two minutes and you can’t be late to History if you’re failing.”

 

Grantaire groans, wiping the grass of his chest. “Why are you such a  _ nerd _ ,”

 

“Shut the fuck up, I’m just looking out for you. Heaven knows you can’t look after yourself.” She sighs, reaching a hand out to hoist him up. 

 

They walk back around to the main building together, earning a lot of whistles from the rugby team, who probably thought that they were making out. Éponine flips them off and Grantaire grins at them. 

 

“I’ll see you after school, okay?” She says to him, her voice soft and understanding.

 

“See you, ‘ponine.”

 

Grantaire turns around to go. He really doesn’t want to face History. If his memory serves, there is a high chance that Enjolras is going to be there. Stupid, annoying, distracting, chiseled Enjolras, who has the most--

 

“Oh, and Grantaire?” he hears Éponine call from behind him. He whips around.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

 

She leaves before Grantaire can answer, so he just stands there, confused. Why would she say that to him? He knows that. He’s an ally or whatever. But he just isn’t gay himself. Being with another man, that’s just..yeah. Turns his stomach. Why did she say that to him?

  
  


*

  
  


Courfeyrac is still in the bathroom when he hears the bell go off. He couldn’t find Grantaire at break to talk him down, so he’s been in here since class ended. He’s leaning on the sink with both hands, staring at himself in the mirror. 

 

“You can do this.” he whispers. “What’s so hard about math? Nothing. It’s just numbers. You can make numbers your bitch.” He makes some angry faces in the mirror, trying to look threatening. It’s pretty hopeless.

 

He hears a toilet flushing in a stall behind him and some freshman comes out of a stall, scampering out the door before Courfeyrac can say anything. 

 

“Wash your fucking hands, dude.” he mutters to the empty bathroom.

 

He takes one last long look at his reflection, his ugly bloodshot eyes and his flushed cheeks. He looks like shit today. He was up last night trying to find this Combeferre guy on facebook, but he had no idea how to spell his name, and to be honest, he kinda forgot it for a while. But he remembered! Combeferre. That isn’t that hard. 

 

“Combeferre, I need you to make me more smarter at math.” he practices out loud, then laughs at himself. It’s been two minutes since the bell rang, so he pulls down his top and hikes up his socks and heads to calculus. Dreaded calculus. 

  
  


When he reaches his class, he peers in through the glass in the door to see if Ms. B had arrived yet. He notices Combeferre straight away, because he’s wearing a red jumper and a scarf and for some reason it looks like he’s staring at Courfeyrac’s empty seat, which is funny. A funny coincidence.

 

Ms. B is there, of course, because he can never catch a fucking break. He taps on the glass lightly and lets himself in, trying to make his way to his desk without getting sent back down to the office for a late slip. But of course, nothing in life is that easy, is it?

 

“Mr. Courfeyrac, how kind of you to join us.” Ms. B says, voice dripping with disdain. 

 

“Sorry, miss, I was in the bathroom.”

 

“The boys’ bathroom or the girls’ bathroom?” some asshole pipes up from the back of the class. Courfeyrac glares at them.

 

“Montparnasse, be quiet. Courfeyrac, come see me at the end of class.”

 

Courfeyrac groans and plops down into his chair. It’s her fault he was late anyway. If she wasn’t failing him, he wouldn’t have missed so much sleep, and he wouldn’t have had to gear himself up for this stupid class.

 

She resumes the lesson and he tries to focus on the board, he really does, but for some reason he ends up doodling a very detailed octopus in his book instead of copying down some shit about integration, and when he looks up again the whole board is full of symbols he is 90% sure that she made up just to throw him off. It’s like she doesn’t even  _ want  _ him to graduate. 

 

He turns around to see if he can get Combeferre’s attention, but luckily he was already looking in his direction. He freezes when Courfeyrac looks at him. 

 

Courfeyrac gives him a small wave, tries for a smile, but Combeferre just ducks his head, frantically taking down the notes. Which is rude. He’s probably a homophobe. 

 

But fuck it, Courfeyrac really needs the help.    
He tears a piece of paper out of his notebook and messily scribbles;

 

_ wait 4 me after class, ok? _

 

He scrunches it up and hands it to Musichetta, pointing in Combeferre’s direction. She tosses it onto his desk, which makes him jump, and a strand of black hair falls over his eye. Which is kinda cute. Combeferre glances up at Courfeyrac before taking the note and he watches him read it, his eyes scanning over the paper at least five times before he uncaps his pen and writes something underneath. Musichetta is already waiting with an open hand, so he gives it back to her and she passes it back to Courfeyrac.

 

_ Okay. _

 

Courfeyrac grins back at Combeferre, who blushes and looks down at his books again. 

 

The rest of the class seems to take  _ forever. _

Not only is it a calc double, but Ms. B keeps calling on Courfeyrac even when she clearly knows that he doesn’t have the answers. He’s also dreading having to talk to her at the end of class, but he’s just going to be honest. Honest is the best policy yadda yadda yadda. He may be shit at math but at least he’s never been anything but himself.

 

The bell finally rings for lunch and Courfeyrac sits in his chair while everyone files out in a hurry. Combeferre leaves without even looking at him, so he’s worried he might ditch him completely.

 

“Well, Courfeyrac.” Ms. B starts once everyone has gone, sitting down on the edge of his desk. “Obviously what I said yesterday didn’t get through to you.”

 

“It fucking has! I--”

 

“Language.”

 

Courfeyrac sighs. “It flipping has. It’s not my fault I’m bad at calc, okay? But I’m trying.”

 

“You showed up late to class and you didn’t listen to a word I said. I saw you passing notes, you know. I may be old but I’m not stupid.”

 

“I have ADHD! And I was just--”

 

“Oh, please. That’s just an excuse. You’re not going to graduate at this rate.”

 

“You can’t say that to me, you’re my teacher. You’re supposed to be encouraging.” Courfeyrac has never felt this shitty about himself.

 

“I can only be encouraging to people who actually care.” She quips, pushing herself up off the desk.

 

“I care.” He tries to sound strong, but it comes out quiet, his voice catching in his throat.

 

He knows what her deal is. He knows it isn’t just the calculus. She doesn’t like that he’s different, and she doesn’t believe that his attention problems are real, and she’s had it out for him since he was a freshman but now there’s nothing he can do about it, because he has to graduate. He’s not going through this hell again.

 

“Listen. There’s a mock exam in three weeks. If you don’t get at least a C, then I’m going to have to flunk you. Are we clear?” She’s looking at him over the rim of her glasses with this snarky look on her face that makes Courfeyrac want to cry. “You can go.”

 

He nods wordlessly, slipping out from behind his desk and slinging his bag over his shoulder. There’s no one in the hall when he gets out of the classroom, so he starts to make his way towards the cafeteria. He needs to find Grantaire. Grantaire isn’t gonna hug him in front of everyone, but maybe if they go back to his house after school they can watch tv together and he’ll let Courfeyrac curl up under his arm and they won’t say anything. Courfeyrac would like that. He isn’t into Grantaire, but he smells nice and he’s got nice arms and he makes Courfeyrac feel safe. He hates that his calc teacher can get to him this way. Like, clearly she doesn’t have a passion for the job or else she wouldn’t be so freaking--

 

“Hi?”

 

Courfeyrac nearly jumps out of his skin, narrowly avoiding a hard collision with Combeferre. He just popped up out of nowhere.

 

“You just popped up out of nowhere!” Courfeyrac says breathlessly, holding his hand over his heart. “Holy crap you scared the shit out of me. Where were you?”

 

“I was waiting outside. You walked right by me.” Combeferre frowns. He still has that stray strand of hair in front of his eyes, and it’s pretty aesthetically pleasing. Courfeyrac is going to do his best to not be too gay, though. He doesn’t want to make Combeferre uncomfortable.

 

“Shit I’m so sorry, man! I was totally zoned out, you know how Ms. B is right? Total B hahaha!! Plus I have trouble focusing on things sometimes and I am seriously in a bad mood right now and wow...I forget what I was saying because no one normally lets me talk this long but thanks for waiting!” 

 

Combeferre is the polar opposite of Courfeyrac, listening intently. He seems so calm. 

 

“Why did you want me to wait?”

 

Courfeyrac hums, tugging Combeferre by the sleeve to start them walking towards the cafeteria. “Basically, I’m failing calc.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah. I know it’s probably no big surprise, because everyone probably thinks I’m dumb as hell anyway, but if I don’t pass calculus I’m not going to be able to graduate. And that would suck.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Anyway, I was wondering if maybe you could...help me? I know you’re probably  _ super  _ busy with finals and I totally understand if you don’t want to ‘cause it would be hard and I know you probably don’t like me but I’m really desperate and you’re the smartest person in our class - if not our entire year - and I can’t offer you any money but maybe we cou--”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

“Oh.” Courfeyrac lets out a breath. “Really?”

 

“Yeah, of course.”

 

He giggles a little. “That was so easy. Thank you so much. Um,”

 

They’re almost at the doors of the cafeteria by now, and Courfeyrac knows that Combeferre probably wants to go find his own friends. 

 

“Should I take your number?” Combeferre supplies.

 

“Yeah! Yeah. Would that be okay? Could you text me?” Courfeyrac reaches around and fumbles with his bag, pulling a marker out of the front pocket. He grabs Combeferre’s arm and pushes up his sleeve, scribbling his mobile number on his skin. Combeferre flinches a little when he touches him. Courfeyrac tries not to take offence. “I hope you can read that,” he laughs nervously. “Sometimes my zeros look like sixes and my sevens look like ones.”

 

“It’s fine, it’s perfect.” Combeferre says, smiling a little. Courfeyrac has never seen him smile. It’s lovely. He nearly tells him that, but he holds back. Stop being so fucking gay.

 

“Text me tonight, okay? We can figure out where to meet and stuff.” Courfeyrac says. He realises he’s still holding Combeferre’s arm, and quickly lets it go. Combeferre just nods, blushing a little bit. “I’m going to go find my friends. Talk to you tonight?”

 

“Talk to you tonight.” Combeferre echoes.

 

Courfeyrac pushes into the cafeteria by himself, leaving Combeferre standing there. He’s staring at his arm. It’s kinda cute. In a dorky way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating soon! Things are picking up I promise lmao


	8. Chapter 8

Rugby after school is intense and furious and dirty, and Grantaire needed it so bad. They play a practice game against the neighbouring school, St. Daniel’s, and by halftime Montparnasse is already sporting a black eye and Grantaire has a busted lip. They’re all covered in mud and grass-stains, sweat dripping down into their eyes. It’s perfect.

 

They’re ten minutes from the end of the game, with a score of six all, when one of their backs, Bahorel, breaks away and manages to run most of the way down the pitch. The other team are hot on his heels and he makes a quick pass to where Grantaire is waiting. Grantaire makes the catch, but he can see a kid from St. Daniel’s out of the corner of his eye, making a run to tackle him out of play. He pushes himself, finding an extra burst of speed, and the kid tackles thin air, going down and leaving Grantaire with a clear run to the try line. He knows there are other players running after him, he can hear the screams of the cheerleaders and his team shouting. He throws himself down and over the try line, making the try by a clear margin.

 

His team erupt into cheers, Montparnasse running up to Grantaire and throwing himself on top of him, ruffling his hair. Lesgles grabs Grantaire by the wrist and hoists him up, but he’s instantly tackled by Bahorel, knocking the wind out of him.

 

“That was fucking _awesome_ dude!!!” Bahorel is saying. Grantaire is breathless and laughing and riding the post-win high, he gets Bahorel in a headlock and kisses the top of his head. “ _You_ were fucking awesome, dude!” He laughs. Bahorel wriggles out of the headlock, grinning. “But I was pretty good, too.” Grantaire adds with a snort.

 

“Holy fuck, bro, your lip is fucking gushing.” Montparnasse says, hopping up. “It looks sick.” He’s a weird kid. Grantaire brings his hand up to his mouth absently, wincing. There’s blood dribbling down his chin and a nasty metallic taste in his mouth.  “Uh, tell coach I’ll be over in a second. I’m gonna go clean this up.”

 

He pushes his way out through his teammates, getting a lot of congratulatory shoves and high fives. The guys from St. Daniel’s are clearing off to the side of the pitch, getting a serious talking-to from their coach. Grantaire snickers to himself as he walks by, giving them a little wave. They don’t wave back.

 

He walks back over the pitch to the main building, pushing open the door to the locker rooms. It smells like sweat and testosterone, Grantaire loves it. He makes his way to the bathrooms and looks at himself in the mirror. There’s mud and grass stains all down the side of his jersey where he landed the try, and blood dripping down onto his chest. Javert is gonna be annoyed, but he doesn’t really care. It’s none of his business anyway. He runs the faucet until it’s freezing cold and leans his face under the tap, letting the water run over his lip until it’s numb. Then he scrubs his face, shaking his hair dry like a dog.

 

He hears someone come into the locker room, and figures it’s someone from the team. “Montparnasse is that you?” he calls out. “Dude I think I might need stitches, this thing won’t stop bleeding.” There’s no answer. “Montparnasse?”

 

He cuts off the water and dries his hands on his shorts, heading out into the main changing room. He’s about to call out for Montparnasse again when he sees who it was. Enjolras is using the middle bench. His shirt is bundled up on the bench next to his schoolbag and he’s rooting through his locker. Shirtless.

 

Grantaire’s breath catches in his throat. He wants to duck behind the lockers but he can’t tear his eyes away. Enjolras is all smooth, pale, lean muscle; he has this peaches-and-cream complexion that would look amazing covered in hickeys. Someone needs to suck a bruise into his skin right there, above his hip, and _fuck_ this isn’t good, Grantaire needs to get the fuck out of there. He spins around, trying to hide behind a block of lockers, but instead he kicks an open locker door with his foot and it resounds with a loud metallic _clang._ Fuck.

 

“Who’s there?” He hears Enjolras say. “You scared the shit out of me.”

 

Grantaire curses under his breath, and turns around to face him. “Hey.” Enjolras is pulling a green hoodie over his head ( _thank God,_ Grantaire thinks, _thank fucking God_ _)_ , and his eyes widen when he sees Grantaire.

 

“Holy shit, flyhalf.” he whistles. “What happened to your face?”

 

“What happened to _your_ face?!” Grantaire says automatically, then remembers the blood. “Oh.” He brings his hand up to his mouth. His ears burn with embarrassment. He feels stupid, like his blood is running too hot and his heart is beating too fast. It’s stupid. “I uh, busted my lip.” he manages. “Scoring a try. I think I might need stitches.”

 

“Can I take a look?”

 

Grantaire feels the heat rushing to his face. “Um, sure. I guess. If you, uh. Yeah.” He takes a step towards Enjolras, but Enjolras closes the gap, stepping right up into his personal space. He looks at Grantaire’s mouth for a second, then brings his hand up, pulling Grantaire’s lip down with his finger a little, very gently. He’s ever so slightly up on his toes to be the same height as Grantaire. Grantaire feels dizzy.

 

“Yeah, you don’t need stitches.”

  
Grantaire’s pulse is so loud in his ears that he barely hears Enjolras. He almost forgot what was going on. “Uh. What?”

 

“Just apply pressure for 15 minutes and the bleeding will stop. Then leave it alone. Mouth wounds heal pretty fast.” Enjolras turns around, heading back to the bench to pack his clothes into his bag, dismissing Grantaire. Grantaire lets out a breath, trying to pull himself together.

 

“What? No, dude, it’s gushing. How do you know this?”

 

Enjolras sighs. “I look after my mom a lot, she gets herself into all kinds of trouble. Just trust me. Pressure.”

 

Grantaire shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Why are you being nice to me?”

 

Enjolras looks at him with an eyebrow raised. Damn, he has good eyebrows. “I don’t hate you, flyhalf. I just think you’re a bit of a cockhole.”

 

Grantaire laughs at that, folding his arms across his chest tightly. “Well, the feeling is mutual.” He mutters, distractedly. The way Enjolras has his back turned to him is giving him a really good view of his ass, and Grantaire can’t stop staring. It’s just so damn round, and those jeans are so damn tight. He gets a fright when Enjolras turns around, hoisting his bag onto his back. He studies Grantaire for a sec, then shrugs.

 

“See you at debate club, flyhalf.” He says. “Don’t forget to get a good look while I’m on my way out.”

 

Grantaire is still processing his words long after the door swings shut behind him. He shakes his head and turns on his heels, heading back out to the pitch.

 

Okay, so...maybe he’s not as straight as he thought. Maybe.

 

Fuck.

 

*

 

Combeferre is standing at the school gates, shifting from foot to foot to warm up, waiting impatiently for Enjolras to finish changing. He’s been over ten minutes, which is just extra. Combeferre only wanted him to change out of that ridiculously tight t-shirt. He’d might as well have worn a flashing neon sign saying “I’m Gay” in Urdu, would have been the same thing to his mother.

 

Enjolras eventually comes tripping down the school steps and jogs up to Combeferre, grinning like a lunatic. He’s wearing a hoodie, which is good enough. Combeferre would have preferred a nice shirt or something, but hey. Good enough.

 

“We’re gonna be late dude, come on.” he urges, “What have you got to be so damn happy about?” He sets off walking, making Enjolras speed to catch up with him.

 

“Nothing. Jeez. Who pissed in your soup?”

 

“No one! I mean, what? That’s such a weird expression.”

 

Enjolras snorts. “Yeah.”

 

“Listen, I know you’re like, super chilled about this for some reason, but let’s go over the ground rules again. Okay?” Combeferre says, his voice coming out sorta whiny.

 

Enjolras sighs. “Okay, okay, uh...no swearing, no talking about school, no talking about GSA, take off your shoes, and no being _gay_.” Enjolras draws out the last word.

 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You can go ten minutes without talking about dick.”

 

He waggles his eyebrows. “Can I?”

 

Combeferre elbows him in the side, earning a yelp from Enjolras. “Okay, okay,” he concedes. “I won’t say anything.”

 

“And if they start criticising homosexuality?”

 

“I’ll keep my pretty gay mouth shut.” Enjolras sighs.

 

Combeferre beams. “That’s the spirit.”

 

They’re just about at his house by now, around 5 minutes before curfew. They had spent a long time at the GSA. Jehan was telling them about this guy he had started seeing, who is supposedly someone from school, and once everyone had cleared out of the room Combeferre told Enjolras about what had happened with Courfeyrac. He wanted to keep it to himself for a while, but it all just gushed out. Enjolras had squealed, and pressed his ear up against Combeferre’s chest to hear his heartbeat. “This is fate,” he had said. “Holy shit dude, you’re gonna get laid.”

 

Right now though, Combeferre can’t afford to think about Courfeyrac, or any possible ‘getting laid’ scenarios. He has his cardigan sleeves pulled down over his hands, keeping Courfeyrac’s phone number safe and sound (not like he hasn’t memorised it already). What he has to focus on now is getting Enjolras in and out of his house without anything getting weird. He might be being overdramatic, but you can never be too careful with Enjolras. As much as Combeferre loves him, the guy has no filter, and no manners.

 

Combeferre pulls his key out of his pocket and lets them both into the house. Enjolras takes off his shoes first, which is already a good start, but he doesn’t untie his laces. That’s a pet peeve of his mother’s. But whatever! It’s fine. It’s fine.

 

“Mom?” Combeferre calls out. “Ammi, Enjolras is here. Sorry we’re late.”

 

Combeferre’s mum emerges from the kitchen with her arms open wide, all sweetness and smiles. She’s wearing a long blue sari and her hair is tied back into a plait. She pulls Enjolras into a hug, crushing his face against her chest.

 

“Enjolras!” She says, her voice warm and welcoming. “I am so happy to see you! Come in, come in. How’s your mother?”

 

Enjolras smiles awkwardly, letting himself be dragged into the kitchen. “Good,” he says “Well, she isn’t any worse. Which is something, right?” Combeferre follows them into the kitchen, keeping a watchful eye on Enjolras.

 

“Oh, absolutely.” his mother agrees. “Insha’Allah things will only get better from here.”

 

Enjolras hums in agreement, clearly stuck for words. Combeferre winces, trying to think of something to say. “So, is dinner ready yet, ammi?”

 

His mother shakes her head, giving Enjolras a _‘would you believe this guy’_ look. “It will be ready in twenty minutes, have some patience! Do not blame me for this boy’s manners, Enjolras, I have no idea where he gets it!” she laughs, which Combeferre thinks is pretty rich, since Enjolras is the rudest person on the face of the Earth.

 

“Enjolras and I might go up to my room for a few minutes then, to study. Right Enj?” Combeferre says, tugging Enjolras’s hoodie sleeve.

 

Enjolras nods vigorously. “Mm, we have that History test tomorrow, and I’d love to get to work on some flash cards while I’m here.”

 

Combeferre fights the urge to roll his eyes, but his mother seems to buy it.

 

“Okay, you boys be down in 20 minutes, you hear? I’ll have your dinner ready by then Enjolras, you can take it back to your mother.” she pinches his cheek. Combeferre pulls Enjolras away before he can say anything more.

 

The second they’re in Combeferre’s room and the door is securely closed behind them, Combeferre throws himself down on the bed and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Enjolras sits down in his wheelie chair while he pulls up his sleeve and meticulously taps Courfeyrac’s phone number into his contacts.

 

“Fuck,” he whines. “What should I say?”

 

“Hi Courfeyrac, this is Combeferre, from math. Just wondering if you’d like to exchange bodily fluids at any point. Regards, Combeferre.” Enjolras supplies, spinning the chair around.

 

“Shut up, oh my god. How about ‘hey Courfeyrac, this is Combeferre. You told me to text you.’”

 

“Dude, your mom is so nice. Can you believe she pinched my cheeks? Like, who does that for real? That’s so cute.”

 

“Enjolras!! I’m seriously freaking out here!”

 

“Okay, okay,” Enjolras goes over and flops down on the bed next to Combeferre. “I think you should just say ‘hey Courfeyrac, this is Combeferre.’ Then let him supply the rest. Be chill.” He rolls over onto his back and stares at the ceiling. “Be caj.”

 

Combeferre groans, typing out the message, his thumb hovering over ‘send’. A minute passes.

 

“What if he doesn’t answer?”

 

“He’s gonna answer.”

 

“....what if he thinks I was really lame when he spoke to me and he’s totally changed his mind?”

 

“‘Ferre, don’t be an idiot. First of all, you’re the coolest, funniest, most amazing person ever, and if he thinks any differently he can go fuck himself,” Combeferre opens his mouth to say something in protest, but Enjolras puts a finger over his lips. “Shut up. Second of all, he needs you real bad. Real bad.”

 

Combeferre lets out an exasperated sigh and hides his face in the crook of his elbow. “Yeah.” he says, his voice muffled. “I guess.”

 

“Needs you real bad in the butt.” Enjolras snorts, and Combeferre smacks him in the arm.

 

“Send the text.” Enjolras continues, once he’s done laughing at his own joke.

 

“I will.”

 

“Don’t overthink it, dude.”

 

“Yeah. Okay.” He closes his eyes and taps the screen. “It’s done. It’s sent.”

 

“Nice.”

 

Another minute passes.

 

“Oh fuck, it’s sent. Oh my God, dude, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that, I sound so dumb. ‘This is Combeferre’, like, duh. Ugh. He’s gonna think I’m such an idiot. Why hasn’t he replied yet?”

 

Enjolras laughs again, linking his arm through Combeferre’s and squeezing it against himself. Enjolras isn’t normally one for physical contact, so Combeferre can appreciate the gesture.

 

“He’ll reply.”

 

Combeferre is about to say something when he hears his mother’s footsteps coming up the stairs. He springs away from Enjolras, clambering off the bed and onto the wheelie chair, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Sit up, dude!” he hisses. Enjolras does as he’s told.

His mother cracks open the door and peeks her head in.

 

“Dinner is ready, boys. Enjolras, yours is packed away, You can keep the containers. I know you want to get home.”

 

“Ah, thank you so much, ma’am!” Enjolras says, with a shit-eating smile. Combeferre’s mom loves it.

 

“We’ll be right down, ammi.” Combeferre says.

 

Once she’s gone, Enjolras turns to him with an incredulous look on his face. “Dude, why are you so afraid of your mother? She’s such a sweetheart.”

 

“I just don’t want any trouble. I don’t want to be grounded on prom night. And I don’t want anything weird being relayed back to my dad. It’s just...I don’t know, man. They’re not bad parents, I just have to be careful.”

 

Enjolras shrugs. “Fair enough.”

 

All in all, Combeferre is pretty proud of himself. He manages to get Enjolras downstairs, get his food, and kick him out the door without any trouble. Without any more cheek-pinching, gushy nonsense, and without his Dad getting home from work. So, a complete win. Except the fact that his phone doesn’t buzz once.

 

He forces himself not to check it all evening. Mostly because he can’t handle the disappointment of having no new messages. After they’ve finished dinner and he’s put all the plates in the dishwasher, he kisses his mother goodnight and runs upstairs as fast as he can without seeming suspicious. He finally allows himself to pull his phone out of his pocket, his hand shaking a little as he unlocks it.

 

_(1) New Message_

  

He throws his phone over onto his bed in a panic, taking a deep breath. Then he goes over to his bed and pulls the duvet over himself, picking his phone back up.

 

_hi combeferre!!!!!!! it’s sooo nice of you to help me out i rly owe you one!!!!!!!!! xxxxx :-)_

 

Combeferre throws his phone down again, pulling the duvet tight over his head and grinning to himself like an idiot. He is so ridiculously in love. Ugh.


	9. Chapter 9

That evening, Courfeyrac is back on Grantaire’s couch, feet up on the seat and back against the armrest. Grantaire agreed to let him stay the night again, since Javert wouldn’t be home ‘til midnight. 

 

“So basically she was just really mean about it and I feel lousy. Y’know? Like...that’s hardly motivating, bitch.” Courfeyrac drums his fingernails on his phone. 

 

Grantaire just hums in response. He’s hunched over the table, clumsily trying to roll a joint. It’s a pathetic effort, really. He’s always been terrible at it. Courfeyrac could do a better job in his sleep. 

 

“Don’t pack it so tight…” he mutters, shaking his head.

 

“Shut up, dude.”

 

“I’m just saying, the air won’t flo-”

 

“Do you wanna do it??”

 

“Well, yeah, actually,”

 

“No, no, I got this, wait.” Grantaire taps his skinny joint on the table a few times and holds it up triumphantly. “Voilà!”

Courfeyrac snorts. “Sure, R.”

 

“Well fuck, man, fine, I’ll start again.” 

 

“No, it’s fine, it’ll do. Let’s just get high already, yeah?”

 

Grantaire nods, holding the joint loosely in his mouth while he fumbles in his pocket for a lighter. Courfeyrac just wants them to get high enough for some cuddling action to happen, because he needs some serious cuddles right now. Grantaire is an awesome cuddler. Just not so much when he’s sober. Too tightly wound.

 

“So,” Grantaire starts, flicking his lighter a few times and lighting up. He takes a long drag and holds it in a sec, passing the joint to Courf. “You wanna watch some netflix or something?” He says on the exhale, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. 

 

“Let’s just listen to some music or whatever.” No, no Courfeyrac doesn’t want to watch Netflix. He wants to listen to Grantaire’s smiley voice that he gets when he’s high, which always makes Courf feel warm and happy. Plus, Grantaire always chooses some shitty frat boy Jonah Hill movie to watch, and Courfeyrac literally cannot sit through another one of those. How many Jump Streets are there? Too many. Too many.

 

“Chrome Sparks?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

 

Courfeyrac doesn’t feel it straight away, but after the third or fourth hit he feels it creeping over him. Grantaire has pretty much the same tolerance, and Courf can see him start to space out, his eyes start to glaze over. Courf scrambles up to roll another joint before he’s too high, and by the time they’re halfway through the second, Courfeyrac is lying on the couch with his head in Grantaire’s lap, and Grantaire is playing with his curls, spinning his finger around them, coiling and uncoiling the ringlets. 

 

“How did..” Grantaire starts to say, but there’s no end to the sentence. Courfeyrac just closes his eyes and hums. He loves it when people play with his hair.

 

“Pretty fucked up that we both might not graduate.” Courf says after a beat.

 

“Yeah.”

 

He’s not sure when the Chrome Sparks EP ended and Pet Sounds came on, but now  _ If You Still Believe in Me  _ by the Beach Boys is vibrating through his fingertips. He loves this song.

 

“I’m so baked, dude.”

 

Grantaire laughs quietly. “I love drugs”

 

“...Yeah.”

 

Courfeyrac sighs and turns slightly, nuzzling his head into Grantaire’s lap. This is exactly what he needed. Grantaire’s hand stops moving in his hair, and Courf whines. 

 

“Don’t stop the,” he tries. “My hair.”

 

Grantaire complies, playing with his hair again, this time his movements more tentative, more gentle. A few minutes pass before he eventually says,

 

“You’re gay.”

 

Courfeyrac chuckles out a laugh with his mouth closed. “Yeah, I’m pretty gay.”

 

“Wh…Why.”

 

“Uh, what?”

 

“Like… how.”

 

“I see boys and I’m like,  _ damn _ .”

 

“But what about girls?”

 

“Girls is more like, like ‘ _ aw _ ’”

 

Grantaire seems to mull that over for a sec.

 

“I like girls.” He says eventually.

 

“Yeah, I know.” Courfeyrac brings his hand up to pat Grantaire’s thigh reassuringly. “But I think, maybe. Maybe you like boys, too.” Oops. Shit. Courfeyrac is always running his damn mouth, Grantaire isn’t gonna be happy with this.

 

But Grantaire doesn’t say anything, just keeps fiddling with Courfeyrac’s hair. Courf opens an eye to peek up at him.

 

“I don’t know.” he says eventually. He’s got major red eye from just the two shared joints, and he’s staring at the wall. 

 

Courfeyrac is about to say something reassuring when  _ God Only Knows  _ comes on. “Shhh!! Shh, dude,” he sits up, grinning. “It’s the best song ever written.” 

 

Grantaire snorts “Debatable.”

 

Courfeyrac shakes his head and flops down so he’s sitting next to Grantaire. His eyes are pretty sore, so he closes them again and rests his head on Grantaire’s shoulder. They sit like that, listening to the whole song. Grantaire smells nice - a little bit like sweat and weed and cheap deodorant, but Courfeyrac likes it. He lifts his head up to tell Grantaire that, but when he looks up Grantaire is already looking down at him, and he’s not sure what happens but suddenly Grantaire is leaning in and Courfeyrac is making no effort to stop him. Their mouths meet in the middle and Grantaire lifts his hand up to Courf’s face. 

 

It’s an okay kiss, closed mouth and gentle. Grantaire pulls back after a few seconds, dropping his hand from Courfeyrac’s cheek and ducking his head, blushing. “Sorry.”

 

Courfeyrac brings his fingers up to his lips. “What the fuck.”

 

“Sorry! I don’t know what that was.”

 

“That was...that was  _ weird _ .” 

 

Grantaire looks up at Courfeyrac, and suddenly they’re both laughing. Courfeyrac pushes Grantaire’s head playfully. 

 

“Yeah,” R agrees. “That was weird.”

 

They spend the rest of the evening on the couch. Courf eventually sobers up enough to roll two more joints, just in case, and R puts on some pasta. They eat it on the floor, watching ‘The Sitter’ (- never underestimate Grantaire’s ability to find a Jonah Hill movie they haven’t watched together).

 

They don’t mention the kiss again, but towards the end of the night, when they’ve finished both the extra joints and two boxes of cookies, and Grantaire is snuggled up under Courf’s arm, he mutters “Thank you.”

 

Courfeyrac just ruffles his hair. “You’ll figure it out, dude.”

 

“Yeah.” R agrees. “Maybe you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zoinks scoob! look who hasn't updated in a while and now hits us with a short ass chapter  
> (sorry for the hiatus but i'm back at it! I'll finish this fic my guys, no worries)


	10. Chapter 10

 

“Enjolras.” 

 

Combeferre’s voice is tight and shaky, like he’s trying to conceal how panicked he is. He’s standing at the end of his driveway when Enjolras gets there, and falls into step with him as he passes.

 

“Hey ‘ferre, good morning to you too.”

 

“Enjolras, major emergency.” he lowers his voice to a whisper. “ _ Courfeyrac _ emergency.”

 

“Oh shit. What happened?”

 

“He wants to come to my house.”

 

“Yikes.”

 

“Yeah, yikes! I don’t know what to do! Can you imagine him showing up to my house in a cheerleader uniform?”

 

“Why didn’t you just ask to go to his house?”

 

“Apparently he has like, fifty sisters and he doesn’t think it’s a good study environment.”

 

“Library?”

 

“...eh.”

 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “What’s wrong with the library, ‘Ferre? You love the library.”

 

“Yeah, but.  _ Gay _ stuff can’t happen at the library.”

 

“Oh my god. First of all, your browser history begs to differ. And second of all, since when are you such a slut? I’m impressed.”

 

Combeferre just sighs. “He’s the love of my life, Enj.”

 

“Don’t be so dramatic, we’re in high school.”

 

“Maybe one day your cold, black heart will understand.”

 

That makes Enjolras laugh. “I suppose we can always live in hope.”

 

The school is practically empty, ‘cause they made it there in record time. Not having to wait for Combeferre to wake up is a huge time-saver.

 

“Come with me to my locker before GSA, I have to get my math book.” Combeferre instructs Enjolras.

 

Walking through the near-empty halls is eerie, their footsteps echo so much.

 

“I never knew these halls were so echo-y.” Enjolras says quietly. 

 

“Why are you whispering?”

 

“I don’t know. Felt appropriate.”

They get to Combeferre’s locker and there are a few other kids around, so it doesn’t feel as dead. Enjolras leans against the lockers next to Combeferre, watching him fiddle with the combination.

 

“Then maybe you should just tell him that you can’t do it at your house, and see what he suggests.” Enjolras says.

 

Combeferre glances at him, then looks back at his locker. “I guess.”

 

“Or you cou-”

 

“Let’s not talk about this in school.”

 

“Dude, I hate to break it to you but I’m pretty sure  _ everyone  _ here knows that you’re gay for Courf-”

 

“OH my God shut up Enjolras!”

 

Enjolras puts his hands up. “Okay, okay.”

 

Combeferre finally gets his books in order and Enjolras is about to say something else when he hears someone cough awkwardly behind him.

 

It’s freaking Grantaire.

 

“What?” Enjolras deadpans, turning to facce him.

“You’re uh. Kind of in my way.”

 

“ _ What? _ ”

 

“That’s my locker.” Grantaire gestures to the one Enjolras is leaning on.

 

“Oh.” 

 

Enjolras moves out of the way and Grantaire gives him a sarcastic smile. He looks tired today. 

 

“What are you doing in school so early?” Enjolras asks.

 

“You don’t know my schedule. Maybe I’m always in this early.” He slams a couple of books into his locker. Enjolras notices it isn’t decorated. Just one rugby sticker in the corner. It’s a mess.

 

“I know you were twenty minutes late to French yesterday.”

 

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Ah yes. I forgot you were there, eagle-eye.”

 

“How’s your lip?”

 

He sees Grantaire swallow. His adam’s apple moving is kinda hot. Kinda. “It’s fine.” 

 

“Told you.” Enjolras grins. 

 

“Whatever.” Grantaire closes his locker, avoiding eye contact. “I have to go find my friends. Talking to you dweebs is social suicide.”

 

Enjolras smirks. “See you in debate later.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Grantaire pushes through them and heads off without a second glance.

 

Combeferre is quiet for a moment. “What...was  _ that? _ ”

 

Enjolras widens his eyes at him. “What was what?!”

 

“That!”

 

“‘Ferre, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“You  _ want  _ him!” Combeferre’s grinning from ear to ear. “Oh my God, you’re blushing.”

 

“I’m not blushing! And I don’t  _ want _ him, whatever that means. Whatever! I can appreciate a, like, good-looking...Whatever. I don’t.”

 

“You dooo,” Combeferre sing-songs as they head down the hall. “And you, my galvanised friend, you want a heart - but you’ve had it in you all along.” He puts his hand on his heart dramatically.

 

“You know, quoting the Wizard of Oz isn’t gonna convince people you’re straight.” 

 

“Wait until I tell the GSA about this.”

 

“Combeferre so help me God.”

 

“I’m  _ kidding,  _ I won’t tell anyone your little secret.”

 

Enjolras grumbles something about not having a secret, but it’s hopeless. “Let’s go back to talking about your boyfriend.” He says. “Get your phone out we’re gonna text him in GSA.”

 

Combeferre whistles. “Okay.” he says. “Let’s do this.”

  
  


*

  
  


Courfeyrac is woken up by his phone buzzing under his face. He groans, pushing it away from himself and cringing when he hears it thud on the floor. He manages to muster up the energy to feel around on the ground for it, and turns it on to check the time. Fucking hell, that’s bright. It’s only 8am and he’s already getting fucking texts, who the fu-

 

Oh shit.

 

He bolts upright when he realises who the text is from -  _ Combeferre _ . His knight in shining armour. And stupid checkered shirts.

 

_ Nah sorry, we can’t do it at my house. My parents are super strict. _

 

Well that sucks. Courfeyrac was hoping to see what Combeferre’s house looked like. Probably super tidy all the time. Not like his house, his house is a constant mess - four sisters and parents with the authority of a bag of wet mice. 

 

Right now though, he’s still at Grantaire’s. Grantaire had to leave him early to go see his rugby coach. He has to explain why he’s going to miss so much practice for the next few weeks. He seemed really bummed about it this morning.

 

Courfeyrac decided not to go in today. 

 

He’s got too much on his mind to be dealing with more nonsense from math teachers and guidance counsellors and people sneering at him in the hallways. Javert left early this morning at 7am, so he has Grantaire’s house to himself. It’s not huge or particularly tidy but it’s starting to really feel like home to Courfeyrac. He’s gonna be sad when they graduate and Grantaire moves out. That’s Grantaire’s plan at least, to move out and never see Javert again. Courfeyrac thinks he’s a little too hard on Javert, but he’d never say that to Grantaire.

 

He manages to drag himself out of bed and heads into the bathroom. His hair is a total mess and he’s got drool on his face but honestly? He looks cute today. The drool has to go but he can totally rock this bed head. 

 

He lets the tap run for a bit to get the water nice and cold, then splashes his face. He should probably have a shower, but he’s too lazy. And he doesn’t want to use Grantaire’s towels. Instead he just sprays on way too much deodorant and heads back into R’s bedroom to find some clean clothes. Grantaire’s clothes, of course. Today’s one of those days.

 

Sometimes Courfeyrac wonders if he’s a little bit in love with Grantaire, but after the kiss last night, he’s pretty sure he isn’t. He loves him, sure. But it’s just like having the big brother he always wanted. A big, dumb, sexually confused brother.

 

He pulls on a jersey that smells clean and his own jeans that were lying on the floor, then grabs his phone again.

_ hey R would u mind if i invited someone round to ur house? Xxxx  _

 

His phone beeps almost immediately with Grantaire’s reply.

 

_ sure, my dad should be out until about 7 today _

 

Courfeyrac smiles. He’s going to end up living at Grantaire’s house more than his own. His phone beeps again.

 

_ just don’t have sex in my room, ok? _

 

_ and dont drink javerts booze bro he’ll blame me _

 

_ i’ll text u if his schedule changes x _

 

The juxtaposition of the word ‘bro’ and the ‘x’ is so sweet and so  _ Grantaire _ . Courfeyrac just answers with a series of emojis, then goes back into his conversation with Combeferre. Having this house to themselves is going to be perfect. Perfect for uh...studying. Courfeyrac needs to keep reminding himself not to be too  _ gay. _

 

_ OK well u could come over to R’s house after school!! he’s going 2 be in debate club so therell be no 1 home :) he said it’s ok! xxxxxx _

 

He shoves his phone in his back pocket and heads downstairs to get some food. 

 

Downstairs is still a mess from last night, empty cookie boxes and soda cans. He spots half of a joint on the table, so he grabs that and the lighter to have before breakfast, work up an appetite. They’re lucky Javert doesn’t really go into the living room, or R would be in serious trouble. It was hard to remember tidying up last night though, they were pretty baked. 

 

He pours some coco pops in a bowl before lighting up. Grantaire only has dairy milk and Courfeyrac isn’t into that, so he sits on the couch and eats it straight from the bowl with his hands. 

 

He’s just about to turn on the TV when his phone buzzes again.

 

_ Yeah, cool! You’re not in school today, are you? _

 

_ Text me the address and I’ll meet you there after school. _

 

_ If that’s cool. _

 

Courfeyrac is so excited - not just about spending time with a cute boy, but also maybe finally getting the chance to understand calculus. For once.

  
He texts Combeferre the address and turns on the TV.   
  
  
He needs a few hours of mindless vegetation and coco pops first.


	11. Chapter 11

“How do I look?”

“Gorgeous. Radiant. You’re glowing.”

“Seriously, Enjolras.”

It’s 3.45pm, Enjolras and Combeferre are both huddled into the one disabled stall that the school has. Enjolras is sitting on the closed toilet, picking at his nails. Combeferre is staring at himself in the mirror.

“Do some pushups, get those muscles popping.” Enjolras jokes.

“My muscles are always popping.” Combeferre tries to say lightly. His voice sounds so strained.

“Honestly ‘ferre, you’re really cute and this guy is obviously into the whole lanky unfashionable nerd thing you’ve got going on. Just go teach him some calculus and maybe kiss him a little bit.”

“Yeah.” Combeferre breathes. “I guess you’re right.”

Enjolras smiles at him in the mirror.

“Plus I bet nothing is going to happen.” Combeferre continues. “He just straight up wants help with his math. That’s fine. That’s probably for the better.”

“Come on ‘ferre it’s getting late. I’ll walk you over to Grantaire’s place if you want.”

“You know where he lives?” Combeferre raises an eyebrow at Enjolras’s reflection.

Enjolras just sighs and gets up off the toilet. “Who doesn’t, am I right? Come on, let’s get going.”

Enjolras successfully distracts Combeferre the whole walk there, talking about debate club and what they should do at the weekend, and encouraging Combeferre to start talking about his Buffy conspiracies.

They arrive in front of the house while he’s in full swing.

“And I don’t even think that Angel d-”

“This is it.” Enjolras interrupts him.

“This is what?”

“This is the house.”

“Oh. Oh! Oh God. Okay.”

“Call me later and tell me how it goes, yeah?”

“Okay.”

Combeferre stands there for a second.

“Go up to the door.” Enjolras prompts him forward a little bit. He pushes the doorbell and starts walking back down the street before Combeferre even has a chance to think.

He hears someone clamouring around inside the house and the door swings open and Courfeyrac’s gorgeous freckled face is there. Combeferre instantly feels relieved and far more panicked at the same time.

“You came!” Courfeyrac beams, pulling Combeferre inside the house by the sleeve of his shirt. Combeferre feels the heat rising to his cheeks.

“I told you I would, didn’t I?”

“Yeah! Yeah you did, oh gosh I didn’t mean that I wasn’t expecting you to come, I’m just really happy you’re here and I’m really grateful that you’re helping me with this and I hope I’m not completely beyond hope, and,”

“Where are we doing this?” Combeferre asks.

Courfeyrac takes a deep breath. “Sorry.” He says. “Come on through here! You can leave your shoes on, Grantaire lives like a pig anyway.”

Combeferre follows Courfeyrac into the living room where he's cleared a space on the coffee table and he has a few calculus books stacked up. Combeferre finds that kinda sweet. Courfeyrac obviously really cares about this.

Courfeyrac sits down on the couch and pats the seat next to him, so Combeferre sits down too. Their thighs are maybe five inches apart. Combeferre’s stomach is in knots. It must be so glaringly obvious that he’s in love with Courfeyrac.

“So what are you having trouble with?” He manages.

“Uh...Everything.” Courf kind of laughs. “I’m sort of completely hopeless. I was hoping you could explain what um,” Courfeyrac takes a look at his notepad on the table. “Differentiation is?”

Combeferre smiles a little to himself. “That sounds like a good place to start.”

He reaches past Courfeyrac to grab their junior textbook from the top of the pile. He ignores the way his skin buzzes the closer he gets to Courfeyrac.

He spends the next 30 minutes explaining how differentiation works, and Courfeyrac listens intently, asking questions. He pulls his legs up onto the couch at one point, bringing their knees closer together, making Combeferre’s breath catch in his throat a little. Hopefully not noticeably.

When he hands Courfeyrac the pen to fill in an exercise, Courf’s fingers brush his. Combeferre snaps his hand away a little too fast, sending the pen flying and hitting off the tv. Courfeyrac laughs a little bit, but it’s an awkward laugh.

“I’m sorry.” Combeferre says. His face is so red. Courfeyrac just grabs a new pen from his pencil case.

“Don’t worry.” Courfeyrac mutters quietly, focusing on the equation in front of him.

Courfeyrac is quiet after that. Well, quiet by his standards. Which is unsettling. Combeferre doesn’t know what to do to ease the tension between them. Courfeyrac probably thought that Combeferre really didn’t like him. The despair aimed at himself probably gave Combeferre an air of impatience and discomfort, and it never for a second crossed his mind that Courfeyrac might think these things were directed at him.

It takes a few minutes for Courfeyrac to finish his differentiation, and they sit in silence. Combeferre racking his brain for a way to let Courfeyrac know that he likes him - but not too much.

Disregarding the fact that he does like him too much. Far too much.

“Okay I think I got it,” Courfeyrac says after a while.

Combeferre leans closer to take a look at the notepad, and their legs touch. Just at the knee. It’s enough for Combeferre’s heart to do a full flip inside his chest, but he resists the urge to pull away. He leaves his leg there, leans even further in to take a closer look at Courfeyrac’s work.

“Courf, that’s perfect.” He says. “You picked this up so fast.”

“Oh, wow.” Courfeyrac says, letting out a harsh breath, like he’d been holding it. “I didn’t realise differentiation was so easy.”

“It isn’t that easy, you’re just smart.” Combeferre says. He meant to sound positive and encouraging, but it came out just a little too quietly.

Courfeyrac turns his head and looks at Combeferre for a second. They haven’t really looked at each other this whole time.

Courfeyrac looks particularly cute today. Admittedly, Combeferre says that about him every day. But today he’s wearing a black tshirt with some band name on the front, and his curly hair is all messed up and he looks a little tired, like he had a nap and forgot to set an alarm and woke up really confused. It’s weird to see him out of his cheerleading outfit. Weird, but good. The only shame is that he’s wearing grey sweatpants, and Combeferre kind of misses getting to look at his calves. Which is probably weird.

He’s acutely aware of where their legs are touching, still. The moment of silence lingers between them, and Combeferre isn’t sure what to say to break it. He doesn’t know if Courfeyrac is feeling all of the things that he’s feeling right now. Probably not, right?

“Can I tell you something?” Courfeyrac asks.

Combeferre’s heart is pounding. “Yeah.” He says.

Courfeyrac grins one of his goofy grins. “I got way too high this morning and I was really worried that I’d be completely distracted during this.” He laughs a little. “But maybe that’s the key! Maybe I just need to get stoned before every calculus class.”

Combeferre chuckles a little. “Maybe you’re right.”

“And you’re a really good tutor,” Courfeyrac adds. “Maybe that’s enough for today, though.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” Combeferre finds himself nodding a little too much. “Okay. I’ll get going then, and-”

“Oh, you’re leaving?”

“Um. I mean, I don’t kn-”

“I was thinking we could hang out a little after this, y’know. Get to know each other.”

Combeferre doesn’t say anything for a second, he’s a little surprised.

“Maybe we could watch a movie?” Courfeyrac continues. “But you don’t have to, obviously. I’m not gonna force you to hang out with me!” He laughs.

“No, no, I’d love to.” Combeferre says. Ugh. Too eager. Be cool.

Courfeyrac rewards him with one of his grins.

“Awesome. Let me put these books away so I can forget that calculus exists.”

Combeferre laughs, drawing his legs up underneath him. His knee feels cold when Courfeyrac pulls away to clear the table, but when Courf sits down he puts his leg right back where it was. Something warm flickers in Combeferre’s heart.

Maybe Courfeyrac does feel something too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm in desperate need of a beta reader for the rest of this - if anyone is interested, I'd love for you to drop me a message at lesbianstudyblr.tumblr.com! 
> 
> For now - no proofreading we die like men


	12. Chapter 12

When Combeferre pulled away from his touch, Courfeyrac was convinced that that meant that he didn’t like him at all. Combeferre got all flustered and Courf thought - this guy is a definite homophobe.

But then the knee thing happened.  
At first Courf thought that it was a mistake, that Combeferre hadn’t noticed that their legs were touching. But he never moved away. Even when Courfeyrac leaned in a little closer.

Courfeyrac was still a little dozy from being stoned all morning, and even more tired after all that learning, and his biggest instinct was to just crawl into Combeferre’s arms and take a nap on him. Maybe smoke another joint. He would really love that.

Of course the second anyone touches Courfeyrac he falls in love. He clings onto any form of intimacy and runs with it. Especially when it’s coming from cute tall lanky boys with really good hair and poor social skills.

He’s delighted when he convinces Combeferre to stay longer. Combeferre seems more relaxed now, with his legs pulled up under him on the couch, his shoulders less tense. Courf has to resist rubbing his shoulders. It’s overwhelmingly tempting.

“Do you want to smoke?” He asks when he sits back down.

Combeferre looks a little taken aback. “I, I don’t know. I never have.”

“You’ve never been high?”

“Well, no.”

“Do you want to try it?”

Combeferre seems to mull it over for a second.

“I don’t want to pressure you into doing it if you don’t want to, don’t worry.”

“Actually,” Combeferre says, cocking his head to the side ever so slightly. “Yeah. I think I would like to.”

Courf can’t suppress his grin. “Oh dude, this is gonna be awesome.” He hops off the couch and hurries up the stairs, where he grabs the rest of the joint he didn’t finish earlier, and some extra supplies in case they need more. He rushes back downstairs and plops back down on the couch. He can’t think of a way to seamlessly put their legs back where they were, so he settles for sitting up on the couch a little further away and letting his foot touch Combeferre’s leg. There’s something so nice and exciting about the constant touch they’re maintaining. He hopes Combeferre sees it as flirting too.

Courfeyrac puts the joint in his mouth and lights it, taking one long drag and then passing it to Combeferre.

“Have you ever smoked a cigarette before?” He asks.

Combeferre shakes his head.

“That’s probably for the best. You’re gonna wanna inhale this right into your lungs, and then hold it in for a few seconds.”

Combeferre does as he’s told, and after a few seconds starts coughing like crazy. Courfeyrac laughs a little, handing Combeferre his bottle of water and putting his hand on his knee to give him a reassuring pat. A reassuring pat that ends up staying there. He strokes Combeferre’s knee with his thumb until he stops coughing.

“You alright?” He laughs.

Combeferre takes a few gulps of water and nods. “Sorry about that.” He says. “Sooo uncool.”

“Chyeah!” Courf jokes, taking his hand off Combeferre’s knee to take the joint back, taking another drag himself.

They pass it back and forth until it’s finished, and Combeferre manages to control the coughing pretty fast. By the end of it, Courf is feeling pleasantly relaxed.

“Do you feel anything?” He asks Combeferre.

“I…..think so. I feel a little weird. But good weird.”

Courfeyrac smiles at him. He grabs his phone from his back pocket and turns on some music, putting his phone down on the table and sitting back into the couch.

“It’s kinda weird that we never hung out before this.” Courfeyrac says after a while. Combeferre just laughs, a louder laugh this time, more relaxed.

“What’s so funny?” Courf asks.

“Nothing, I mean. It’s kind of obvious why we haven’t hung out.”

“What? Is it?”

“Yeah man. You’re the popular, cute cheerleader that everyone loves and wants to be with, and I’m just a quiet nerd who spends the majority of his time with the loud angry guy.”

Courfeyrac chuckles. “I’m not that popular.” He says. He makes a mental note that Combeferre just called him ‘cute’.

“You most certainly are.” Combeferre scoffs.

“Nooo, I’m just friends with Grantaire so I end up in the popular circles.”

“Everyone at school loves you.”

“To be honest I still have a hard time talking to people at our lunch table.” Courf says. “I feel like I’ll never be able to be freely myself because I’m gay and they’re not, y’know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” Combeferre says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Oh.” Courfeyrac’s heart is suddenly beating a little faster.

“How come you never come to our gay straight alliance?” Combeferre asks.

“We have a gay straight alliance?” Courfeyrac’s eyes widen a little.

Combeferre laughs freely, throwing his head back a little. “Yes! I can’t believe you didn’t know about it. I always wondered why you never showed up.”

“I had no idea! And you’re in it?”

“Yeah.” Combeferre shrugs. “Enjolras and I founded it. Though he did most of the work.”

“Ohh, so Enjolras is, uh,”

“Gay, yeah.”

“Oh, okay. I get it now.” Courfeyrac says. He pulls out another prerolled joint and lights it.

“I mean…” Combeferre starts, pausing when Courf hands him the joint to take a drag. “I am too, you know.” He says on the exhale. “Gay.”

Courfeyrac’s breath catches in his throat, making him cough a little. He nods, looking at Combeferre as he hands him back the joint. Courf’s vision is slightly blurred when he focuses too hard. When he takes the joint off Combeferre their fingers brush again, but this time Combeferre doesn’t flinch away. Courfeyrac's lets the touch linger a little, then takes another drag himself.

“So will you come?” Combeferre asks.

“Huh?”

“To the GSA.”

“Oh, definitely. Hundo p.” He breathes out. “I always thought I was the only out gay person at our high school.”

Combeferre shrugs. “In a way, you are. We aren’t very vocal about it. Besides Enjolras, but he’s vocal about so much stuff that people have stopped listening to him altogether.”

Courfeyrac laughs. “I think my friend R has a crush on Enjolras.”

“Oh my God.” Combeferre says. “No fucking way.”

“Whoa, ha, I’ve never heard you swear.”

Combeferre smiles. “There’s a lot you haven’t heard me do.” He says.

Courfeyrac was not expecting that. His dick is immediately interested. This is bad news.

Combeferre seems to realise the implications of what he said, and groans a little. “Oh man, I just mean that we haven’t been talking very long, so, you know. We don’t really know each other. Oh God.”

Courfeyrac laughs. “Well, I’d like to get to know you.” He passes the joint back to Combeferre.

Combeferre swallows hard, taking it from Courfeyrac and taking a long drag. Courf can’t take his eyes off Combeferre’s mouth as he inhales. He actually has a really nice mouth. His lips aren’t that full, but they look really soft, and he has a nice bit of stubble along his jawline. When Combeferre hands him back the joint, Courf stubs it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

“Yeah, I think I’m...really stoned.” Combeferre says with a sheepish grin.

“Do you like it?” Courf smiles.

Combeferre just nods. He looks happy and dopey.

“Do you know what feels really good when you’re stoned?” Courfeyrac asks.

“What?”

“Kissing.”

Combeferre swallows. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Interesting.”

Neither of them say anything for a second.

"That sounds..." Combeferre clears his throat. "That sounds good."

Courfeyrac nods, scooching closer to Combeferre on the couch so their thighs are pressed together.

“I guess…” Combeferre breathes “I guess we’d better try that, then.”

Courfeyrac nods again. “Yeah, I guess we should.” He leans in so that their mouths are only an inch or two apart, still a little hesitant.

Combeferre closes the distance, pressing his mouth to Courfeyrac’s gently. Courfeyrac’s heart is racing, and the kiss seems to last forever. Combeferre eventually pulls away. Courfeyrac is breathless just from that, his face flushed.

He brings his hand up to Combeferre’s jaw and pulls him in again, kissing him a little harder, and then kissing him again. And again. Combeferre responds in kind, and he slides a hand around Courfeyrac’s waist, his thumb under his shirt, resting on Courf’s bare skin. He must feel how hot his blood is running.

Combeferre kisses him again, deeper this time. Courfeyrac moves his hand from Combeferre’s jaw up to his head, carding his fingers through his hair and melting completely into ‘Ferre’s mouth. His senses are on fire and it feels amazing, he never wants this to end. It gets even worse when Combeferre manages to gently bite Courf’s bottom lip with his teeth as he pulls away. Courfeyrac's lets out an involuntary groan, trying to pull Combeferre back in for more. He’s already addicted.

Combeferre laughs breathlessly, but doesn’t put up a fight. He kisses Courfeyrac again, reaching his other arm around Courfeyrac and pulling him onto his lap. Courfeyrac hums happily, smiling into the kiss and settling into Combeferre’s lap, his legs on either side of Combeferre’s. Combeferre is bound to feel how hard he is, but Courfeyrac doesn’t really care. He just wants more kissing.

They make out for what feels like an eternity, but it could have easily been ten minutes. When they finally take a break Courfeyrac's lips are tingling. He presses his forehead against Combeferre’s and smiles, trying to catch his breath.

“You were right,” Combeferre says. “Kissing is amazing while high.”

Courfeyrac laughs, kissing him once more. “I told you.” He says. “Kissing is amazing in general.”

“True.”

Courfeyrac sits back a little, holding Combeferre’s face in both his hands. “I’m so glad you came over to teach me math.” He says.

Combeferre sighs. “You have no idea.”

Courfeyrac grins and kisses him once again. “Oh yeah?” He asks into ‘Ferre’s mouth.

“I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time.” Combeferre admits.

Courfeyrac accidentally gasps. “No way!”

“Way.”

Courfeyrac stares at Combeferre for a second. Combeferre is flushed, the tops of his cheeks are a warm reddish pink. Courf leans in to kiss his cheek, and then his jaw, and then underneath his jaw.

“That’s, incredible,” he says between kisses, going down Combeferre’s neck “though I had my suspicions at some points...” He reaches for the top buttons on his shirt. “Maybe I can repay you for those calculus lessons after all.”

He gets two buttons open before Combeferre puts his hand over Courfeyrac’s, stopping him. Courfeyrac sits back, confused.

“I don’t...I don’t need repayment. Is that what this is?” Combeferre asks.

“What? No, I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant,”

“I thought you liked me.”

“I do! I do like you, ‘ferre. I just thought, you know, it could be mutually beneficial if-”

“It’s okay.” Combeferre takes his hands off Courfeyrac’s hips and rebuttons the top buttons on his shirt. “I just don’t really want to go any further right now, if that’s okay.”

Courfeyrac nods a lot. “Oh, yeah, of course. I’m sorry.” He says.

“It’s okay.” Combeferre says again.

Courfeyrac climbs off his lap, sitting back down next to him. He isn’t sure what to say. He isn’t sure what just happened.

“I should probably get going, it’s getting really late and I haven’t warned my mother.” Combeferre says.

“Oh, of course, shit. Okay,” Courfeyrac says, suddenly panicking that this was a one time thing, that he blew things. “Can we do this again? I mean, can I see you again?”

“Yeah. Maybe we could meet at the library tomorrow.”

Courfeyrac nods. “The library.” He echoes. “Sounds good.” It doesn’t really.

Combeferre nods too and stands up, smoothing the creases out of his shirt and trying to flatten his hair. Courfeyrac walks him over to the door and watches him wrap up in his scarf.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Courf asks. “You’re probably still high.”

“That’s okay, I’m going to text Enjolras.” Combeferre replies. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

Combeferre shuts the door behind him rather abruptly.

Courfeyrac pads back into the living room and flops down on the couch, replaying the scenario over in his head.

Combeferre had a crush on him for a long time. Fuck. He probably felt so used. Courfeyrac groans and covers his face with his hands. He really didn’t want to blow this. 


	13. Chapter 13

  
**[10.33pm]** Enj, you there?

 **[10.34pm]**  hey  
**[10.34pm]** yeah  
**[10.34pm]**  how did it go??

 **[10.36pm]**   _cf is typing..._  
**[10.36pm]** _cf is typing..._  
**[10.36pm]**  
**[10.37pm]**   _cf is typing..._  
**[10.37pm]**  
  


**[10.37pm]** dude come on  
**[10.37pm]**  the tension is killing me

 **[10.37pm]** _cf is typing..._  
**[10.37pm]**  
**[10.38pm]** _cf is typing..._  
**[10.38pm]** Can I call you?

 **[10.38pm]** yeah of course

**X Missed call from cf (10.38pm)**

**[10.39pm]** shit sorry  
**[10.39pm]** give me 2 minutes i just have to go outside

 **[10.39pm]**  Okay.

 **[10.43pm]**  ok call me

  
Enjolras answers the phone on the first ring. “Hey Com-”

“We kissed.”

“I knew it.”

“I left.”

“Dude. Why?”

“I told him about my crush.”

“And then left immediately after?”

“Kind of.”

“Combeferrree,” Enjolras groans. “More details please. What the hell happened?”

He hears Combeferre sigh. “I panicked.”

“Because you kissed?”

“Kind of. I feel like he doesn’t really like me. Like it would be a one time thing. Like.” Combeferre pauses for a second. “I don’t know. Like it means nothing to him but I was two seconds away from fainting the entire time.”

Enjolras chews on his lip for a second. “You probably shouldn’t assume anything yet. You didn’t even give him a chance to fall in love with you.”

Combeferre is quiet.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“I just wish I hadn’t told him that I have a crush on him.”

Combeferre’s voice sounds like he’s been crying, and it pains Enjolras to hear. Combeferre rarely cries, which just makes it all the more heartbreaking when he does.

“Do you want me to come over?”

“...Would you mind?”

“I’m on my way.”

“My parents went to bed an hour ago, I’ll meet you outside by the tree.”

“Okay, see you in a few.”

“Thanks, Enjolras.”

**X Call ended with cf duration 7:55 (10.51pm)**

Enjolras heads back into the house to put on his shoes and pull on a hoodie. His mother’s been in bed all day, so she’s hardly going to notice if he goes out. He grabs his keys and shoves his phone in his back pocket and heads out.

It’s dark outside, so Enjolras decides to take the slightly longer route to Combeferre’s house. It’s on the main roads and he won’t have to walk through any dark alleyways.

He speed walks, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets.

It had occurred to him that Combeferre could get hurt in all this. Courfeyrac seems like a nice guy, but Combeferre’s feelings towards him are so intense and that’s not an easy dynamic to manage.

It also occurred to him that Courfeyrac might just use Combeferre for calculus-with-benefits and then forget about him once finals end. That would crush Combeferre. Though Enjolras would like to think that Courfeyrac isn’t that shallow. If only h-

“Jesus!”

Enjolras is completely lost in thought when he slams right into someone. No, scratch that, someone jogs into him. He nearly falls backwards, and his first instinct is to grab onto the jogger’s sleeve to keep his balance.

“What the-” Enjolras starts.

“Oh shit man I’m sorry I wasn’t looking where I was…wait.”

When Enjolras looks up, it takes him a second to realise who’s staring back at him.

Of course.

This asshole.

“Grantaire.” He says, deadpan.

“Enjolras.”

He realises that he’s still holding onto his sleeve, so he quickly lets go. “Did you just jog into me?”

Grantaire is still a little breathless from running, and he’s kind of sweaty. “I was just running, you happened to get in my way. What the hell are you doing out this late anyway?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Grantaire laughs. “I’m jogging. I thought that was pretty self-explanatory.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and pushes past Grantaire so he can continue down the street.

“Wait,” he hears Grantaire say from behind him. He jogs to catch up with Enjolras and then falls into step with him. “You didn’t tell me what you’re doing.”

“I didn’t think it was any of your business, flyhalf.”

“Well maybe I’m worried about you. Out here, in the dark, all on your own…”

Enjolras gives Grantaire an irritated look. Grantaire has that stupid smirk on his face. “We live in the suburbs. The biggest threat to me is dumb jocks who don’t look where they’re going.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I’m an athlete. I was going too fast to stop. 5 minute mile.”

Enjolras laughs incredulously and shakes his head. “Are you gonna tell me how much you bench press next?”

“250.”

Enjolras doesn’t have to look at him to know that he has that smirk on his face. It’s so infuriating.

“Impressive.”

Grantaire is still walking alongside him. He can hear the tinny music coming out of his earphones that are hanging out of his hoodie.

“Dude, why are you following me?”

Grantaire shrugs. “You look like you could use the company.”

Enjolras sighs and stops walking. “When are you going to get it into your head that I don’t like you?” He says, looking right at Grantaire.

As soon as the words come out his mouth he realises how harsh they sound. He sees a little flicker of hurt in Grantaire’s face, but it instantly switches back to his usual cocky asshole look.

Grantaire doesn’t back down from Enjolras’s gaze the way he usually does. “I don’t know if that’s true.” He says.

Enjolras isn’t sure what to say.

He can’t exactly argue. He isn’t sure anymore.

He starts walking again, and Grantaire follows. He’s kind of like a stray dog. He does kind of remind Enjolras of a golden retriever sometimes. That’s probably a weird thing to think.

“I’m going to my friend’s house.” Enjolras says. He isn’t sure why he divulged that information.

Grantaire grins. “I’ll walk you there.”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Is it that guy that was in debate club?”

“If you mean Combeferre, then yes.”

“Are you guys…you know.”

“What?”

“You know.”

“I don’t know.”

“You know,” Grantaire makes some explicit hand gestures. “Doing it.”

“Oh, my God, no.” Enjolras says once he realises what Grantaire means. “No.”

Grantaire nods, and there’s a moment of silence.

“What’s it to you if we are, anyway?” Enjolras asks.

“Wait, are you??”

“No! But it shouldn’t matter.”

“I just want to know if nerds get laid too.”

Enjolras just snorts. “‘Too’. Like you get laid.”

Grantaire gasps. “I get laid, I get laid all the time.”

“Sure you do. I’m sure your girlfriend loves what you’ve got going on.”

“My girlfriend?”

Grantaire seems genuinely confused. Enjolras raises his eyebrows at him. “Your girlfriend.”

It takes Grantaire a while to catch on. “Oh! Eponine? Oh.” There’s a pause. “Yep.”

Enjolras sighs. “It’s okay dude, I know she’s gay. She came to the GSA for a while. Before she got popular.”

“Oh.”

“That, that was my point. That you’re not getting laid. Because your girlfriend is a lesbian.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhh.”

Enjolras sighs. “Just forget it.”

“No, no, I see what you mean.” Grantaire says. There’s another pause. “Doesn’t mean I don’t get laid though. Flawed logic. Maybe I have a side piece.”

“Dude, don’t call girls ‘pieces’.” Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“Girls?”

Enjolras is taken aback by that response. He doesn’t say anything. This silence seems to drag on, and when Enjolras glances over at Grantaire he looks like he’s deep in thought.

“Yeah.” Grantaire says. “Uh, sorry. Side chick.”

Enjolras would argue that Grantaire just completely missed the point, and ‘side chick’ is equally as sexist, and he’s so sick of straight people making jokes about cheating on their partners. But he’s still thinking about Grantaire being so confused at Enjolras assuming he’s having sex with girls.

“Are you coming to debate tomorrow?” He asks, changing the subject.

Grantaire exhales. “I have no choice.”

“It’s not that bad. We’re getting a really interesting topic tomorrow.”

“It’s literal hell. What’s the point in arguing with someone? If arguing is what’s gonna help me graduate I’d bring my dad to finals.”

“It’s not arguing, it’s debating.”

“Whatever it is, it’s pointless.”

“It’s not pointless at all. This kind of shit can change the world.”

This time Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Words aren’t going to change the world.”

“Words can change people’s minds. Words can call people to action. Action changes the world.”

“Do you really believe that you can free the world from injustice?” Enjolras can hear the skepticism in Grantaire’s voice.

“I believe it’s worth fighting for until my last breath.”

Grantaire doesn’t say anything for a second.

“Bit dramatic.”

“We can’t all be cynical assholes like you.”

Grantaire is back to being the most infuriating person on earth. Enjolras can see the tree up ahead, where he’s supposed to meet Combeferre. He pulls out his phone and texts him.

 **[11.23pm]** im here, sorry it took so long

“This is where we go our separate ways, flyhalf.”

Grantaire puts on a fake pout. “I thought we were having so much fun.”

He puts his headphones back in and pulls his hood up.

“We should do this again sometime.” Grantaire says, flashing Enjolras a grin as he takes off again, jogging down the street past Combeferre’s house.

Enjolras is left standing there. Annoyed. A little confused.

A lot confused. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big love to everyone who comments you guys keep me alive lol xoxo  
> Unfortunately les mis is the only fandom i still care about, but i have a feeling it's kind of dying...shoutout to whoever is still here!


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